


That Happy Destiel One

by Misha_Collins_Overlord



Series: Dean Winchester's Experience with Happiness [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel, Bobby Deals With Idjits, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Dean, Cas being a know-it-all, Clueless Castiel, Coming Out, Destiel - Freeform, Destiel is just beautiful, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Drunk Dean, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff and Smut, Gay, I Blame Tumblr, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I'm Going to Hell, M/M, Minor Violence, Parental Bobby Singer, Porn, Sam Knows, Smut, Sorry Not Sorry, Top Castiel, Top Dean Winchester, Torture, Uncomfortable Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 13:20:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 24,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2389721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misha_Collins_Overlord/pseuds/Misha_Collins_Overlord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean works out and knocks over a dude that happens to be attractive and named Castiel, or something like that.<br/>At least, that's how it begins. He falls in love so easily with Cas that he literally doesn't even realise, in a matter of days.<br/>It only gets weird when Cas makes a mess with salt and spray paint. On Dean's living room floor. You all know why. Don't lie.<br/>He doesn't understand how Cas can do things. But he's gonna have fun finding out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Past-Time of Drinking

Dean Winchester drank the water like a man parched. He wiped the sweat from his brow and stretched out his shoulders. He'd just finished his two hour workout. Feeling pleased with himself, he made his way to the showers.  
Afterwards, hair and skin damp, he pulled his clothes on in a locker room that smelled like sweat and shower soap. He slung his bag over his shoulder and rolled out his neck.  
A smirk crept onto his face as he reveled in the sense of accomplishment that came with an intense workout. Today, shoulders and arms. Tomorrow, abs, if his arms weren't aching too much.  
Walking out of the exit, he accidentally walked right into another man, knocking him to the ground. Dean instantly helped pull the man to his feet, and as the stranger stopped brushing off his clothes, raised his head. His soft blue eyes met Dean's vibrant green eyes.  
Dean and the mystery man awkwardly tried stuttering out apologies, but their mouths didn't seem to work.  
The man was wearing a brown trench coat over a white shirt, a blue tie, and suit pants. His brown hair was disheveled from bumping into Dean and hitting the ground, and his mouth finally decided to work.  
"I apologise," he said, voice low. "I wasn't paying attention."  
His eyes found themselves drawn to Dean's exposed arms.  
Dean nodded, and replied, "No sweat, dude. I'm Dean. Dean Winchester."  
He smiled, and the man, Castiel, realised how beautiful Dean was. Vibrant green eyes, slightly damp, dark, blond hair, a sharp jawline, a nose that was as straight and strong as an iron rod, a light dusting of freckles across said nose, stubble, exposed muscly arms, lean body . . .  
Castiel managed to make eye contact as he tilted his head slightly to the left.  
"I am Castiel."  
Dean turned his mouth down slightly and rubbed his jaw with a forefinger and thumb.  
"Interesting name, Castiel. So, uh, I was just going to go for a drink, and seeing as I made you headbutt the sidewalk, the least I could do is ask you if you wanna come with," he smiled apologetically.  
Cas smiled and lowered his gaze. Just as he took a breath so he could politely decline, Dean added, "C'mon. Rounds are on me." He flashed a grin, and Cas couldn't refuse.  
Eyes stuck on Dean's glittering smile, Cas amended and accepted the offer with a quiet laugh.

That was how Dean and Cas ended up in Dean's favourite bar, sitting in a booth together, laughing and talking for hours.  
As Dean went to get another round, Cas watched him. He saw the light in Dean's eyes, saw the good in him beneath the self-loathing and all of the anger.  
Dean left two bottles on the table as he motioned that he was going to the men's room. As Cas waited for him to return, Dean's phone, which he'd left on the table, started ringing.  
Cas answered and held the phone to his ear.  
"Dean? It's Sam . . . Dean?" the voice said. Sam? Dean talked about his brother Sam quite a bit.  
"No," Cas replied, voice low and gravelly. "I am not Dean."  
"Who are you? Where's my brother?" Sam asked, in a voice tinged with panic, bordering on sounding threatening.  
"He's . . . He's in the men's room. I'm Castiel. Dean brought me to a bar. He told me that this is his favourite bar."  
Silence on the other end was finally broken by Sam letting out a surprised, "Oh."  
Cas tilted his head slightly to the left out of confusion. "Oh?" He asked. "Is there something wrong?"  
"No! No," Sam said, still surprised. "No, it's just . . . Dean really only does this with chicks . . . Or old friends."  
"I am not a chick," Cas stated. "Or an old friend."  
"Yeah, I know. Just get Dean to call me, yeah?" Sam asked, and as he did, he caught sight of Dean making his way back to their table.  
"He's here," Cas said, as he handed the phone to Dean.  
"Sammy, hey. Everything okay? . . . Uh, yeah, just figured it was fair seeing as I knocked the poor dude to the ground . . . Yeah, Sam . . . No . . . Yeah, but I- . . . Yeah, okay . . . Alright. I'll call you later. Bye, Sammy," Dean hung up and noticed Castiel watching him.  
Eyes squinting and head tilted, Cas spoke.  
"I am not a chick, or an old friend," he said, confused.  
Dean nodded then shook his head. "Yeah. No. You're not. Why'd you say that?"  
"Your brother, Sam. He said that you "only really do this with chicks and old friends" which I am neither of," Cas replied.  
Dean's front faltered for a split second and he looked lost, before he smiled, patted Castiel's shoulder, and said, "It's not often I knock guys to the ground accidentally."  
Cas looked away from Dean to think.  
"But you knock them to the ground on purpose," he stated, watching Dean with a concerned expression.  
Dean laughed, his green eyes twinkling in the bar's dim light.  
"Yeah, Cas. Usually," he smiled.

Minutes later, Dean was paying the bartender and they were out in the cool night air. He was watching Dean because Dean was drunk. It was strange.


	2. Coffee Cup Conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna try get a chapter up every week. Leave some feedback so I know if you guys like it or not? c:

Dean felt better standing outside his favourite bar with this man named Castiel and alcohol coursing through his veins than he had in months.  
It wasn't the alcohol; he drank often and it rarely lifted his mood. Which left him the other possibility. It was because of Cas.  
Cas, the attractive, strange, trench-coat-wearing man with the vividly blue eyes and a heart-warming smile. He had a peculiar way of speaking, and he always looked at Dean with slightly squinted eyes and a tilted head that conveyed confusion and great interest.  
Dean let his eyes slide over Cas' body, and even though he considered himself heterosexual, he found himself liking what he saw.  
Cas gave his usual, head-tilted, eyes squinted look to Dean and when their eyes met, Cas said, "You're staring. Why? Is there something wrong, Dean?"  
Dean, lost in Cas' eyes, took a few seconds to say, "No. I was just daydreaming. I should get home and sleep this off."  
He scratched the back of his head and looked around. "I live about three blocks away. We should hang out tomorrow. You should walk me home," Dean said, not thinking about the words spilling out of his mouth.  
He had drank quite a great deal, he could barely even walk, and yet Cas seemed stone-cold sober.  
While stumbling home, he occasionally gripped Cas’ shoulder for balance, and he found himself laughing each time.  
Dean reached his house and couldn’t control his hands well enough to put the key into the lock, so Cas offered to complete that arduous task for him.  
Dean practically fell through the entry. He closed the door behind Cas, who stood awkwardly.  
Dean collapsed onto the couch face-first, Cas studying him.  
“Sit, sit,” Dean said, sitting up as he gestured with his hands.  
“Want some coffee, Cas? I want some coffee. I’m gonna go and put some water in the thing.”  
He went to fill and boil the kettle, and as he put it on, he sat at the table and rested his head on a loaf of bread.  
After what felt like minutes later, he felt like he was being watched. His head snapped up and he spotted Cas’ inquisitive eyes on him. He instantly wiped the drool from around his mouth. He stood quickly, rubbing his eyes. His feet wanted to tangle themselves in the legs of the chair, so that’s what they did, and Dean was forced into a graceless nosedive.  
Cas caught him with a grip that Dean found surprisingly strong. He looked up to stand straight and to thank him, but their eyes met and he couldn’t seem to move.  
They stared at each other for an eternity. Dean slowly straightened himself, tore his eyes away, and pressed the back of his hand to the kettle.  
He frowned. “It’s cold,” he looked back at Cas. “How long was I in here?”  
“An hour. When you didn’t return, I became concerned,” Cas said.  
“Okay, and how long were you in here, watching me sleep?” Dean asked.  
“A half an hour,” he replied. “You interest me,” he tilted his head slightly. “You appear considerably less drunk, perhaps the rest has served you well.”  
Dean nodded and put the kettle on again.  
“So, Cas . . . Do you have anywhere you need to be tonight or tomorrow morning? I mean, you can stay the night if you want,” he offered.  
Cas tilted his head and nodded his affirmation. “No, Dean. If you want me to stay, I will stay. Thank you.”  
Dean smiled as he handed him a cup of black coffee. “Right, milk’s in the fridge, sugar’s in a bowl on the table, the coffee’s strong, and I’m going to go and get you some sweatpants.” He clapped once as he smiled and drunkenly winked at Cas, leaving the room.  
He crept up the stairs (or at least he thought so) and opened Sam’s bedroom door.  
“Sam? Sammy, you awake? Sam?” He whispered loudly.  
He was met with a groan, and a sleepy, “what?”  
“Sorry, Sam,” Dean said, swaying slightly on the spot. “Wanted to be sure you’re okay.”  
“You’re drunk,” Sam yawned. His yawn was cut off by the sound of a chair being pushed across the tile floor in the kitchen.  
He shot upright. “There’s someone downstairs.”  
Dean dismissed Sam’s worry with a wave. “Dude, calm down. It’s just Cas. Go back to sleep. Sorry I woke you.”  
Sam was asleep before the apology was even finished. Dean smiled and shook his head to himself.  
He stumbled into his bedroom and rummaged through a pile of clean clothes before triumphantly holding up a pair of grey sweatpants.  
After a more thorough search, he found another pair, dark blue, and he put these on.  
He went back downstairs and handed the grey pants to Cas, who regarded them with a curious expression before his eyes widened fractionally.  
Dean wasn’t wearing a shirt.


	3. Feathers and New Experiences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided I'm going to do my best and post every Thursday. I don't know exactly where this story is taking me yet, but any comments/suggestions are welcome c:

Cas accepted the pants from Dean and followed his directions to the bathroom.

The bathroom was small, bright and clean. A small sink and a shower decorated one wall, along with a mirror. Cas looked at his reflection.

His hair was still dishevelled, but not enough for it to matter. His bright blue eyes seemed more alive than they usually did.

Cas undressed and put the pants on, leaving his clothes on a chair in Dean’s bedroom.

He went back downstairs to see Dean playing air-drums on the black leather couch to rock music. He must’ve heard Cas walk into the room, because, without opening his eyes, he smiled, and said, “Metallica.”

“I didn’t have a shirt,” Cas stated apologetically. I hope that’s okay.”

 

                                                                                                *****

 

As soon as Dean’s eyes opened, his hands froze, and he was staring.

Cas wasn’t wearing a shirt.

 

                *****

 

He suddenly felt self-conscious, being stared at, and when he could convince his feet to move, he sat next to Dean on the couch, the leather squeaking in protest.

Dean turned off the music, and Cas could feel his cheeks getting hot.

“Is there something wrong, Dean?” He asked, confused and concerned.

Dean managed to shake his head.

He laughed a little, yawning, "I'm a little sleepy though." He stretched out his arms and rested one on the back of the couch, behind Cas.

Cas instantly stiffened. “Are you attempting to initiate a mating ritual with me?”

Then it was Dean’s turn to stiffen. Cas turned to look at him, and the second their eyes met, it was a magnetic pull that Cas couldn’t tear away from.

Dean was leaning forward and Cas couldn’t think and all he could smell was leather and alcohol and _Dean_ and their lips were just about to meet when the kitchen door pushed open and they both pulled back.

Sam walked in, rubbing his eyes, wearing a dark grey t-shirt and black sweatpants.

“Am I interrupting anything?” He joked, not realising that he, in fact, was.

He yawned, then looked at Cas, confused.

“Uh, Cas, right?” He asked sleepily. He held out his right hand. “I’m Sam.”

Cas stared at Sam’s hand for about five seconds before slowly raising his own and shaking it.

Sam squinted at the clock. It was 2am. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge before looking at Dean.

“Don’t make too much noise, I need my beauty sleep,” he teased. He smiled at both of them before saying, “Night,” and making his way back up to his bedroom.

Which left Cas alone with a tipsy Dean Winchester.

 

                                                                                                ******

Dean led Cas up to his bedroom, making a point of creeping and whispering. Although if Sam was awake, he was certainly able to hear Dean’s hushed tones in the darkness.

The hallway wasn’t long, only two doors on each side, and Cas followed Dean into the first on the right. His bedroom.

Even in the dark, Cas could see the large bed, plainly decorated in white sheets. On the walls, he could just about make out the outlines of some posters.

Dean was standing at the bedside, debating turning on a lamp or not. He decided against it. He realised that Cas was still behind him.

He turned around to face him and squinted in the blackness. He didn’t think about the fact that they may share his bed, but now that they were standing in his room, shirtless, it’s all he could think about. Dean couldn’t even blink, staring at the tiniest glint of Cas’ eyes.

He closed the gap between them in two short steps and slowly, deliberately, placed his hands on Cas’ shoulders.

His breathing was growing heavier, he couldn’t think, he was still a bit drunk, and he had this beautiful man standing in front of him. He had never been with a guy before, never really thought of any guys in that way before, didn’t even know if Cas was . . . was gay. But in that moment, none of that mattered.

He leaned forward, like he did before Sam interrupted them, and felt surprised when his lips finally met Cas’.

All of the air seemed to go out of his lungs in an uncontrollable sigh that conveyed pleasure, surprise, and neediness, all at the same time.

Cas didn’t seem to know what to do, so Dean kissed him harder, with more urgency, and then, yes, a response.

Cas’ fingers seemed to curl into Dean’s hair of their own accord. Dean’s body pressed up against Cas’, and the feeling of skin on skin was enough for Dean to push his tongue into Cas’ receptive mouth.

Dean couldn’t even breathe – he didn’t want to breathe anything that wasn’t _Cas_. Their tongues met, and the static was electrifying.

When they pushed apart, they stared at each other, panting lightly.

“Dean,” Cas said, his voice conveying a sudden need for more. That one word was enough for Dean to lose what control he had, and his mouth collided with Cas’ once more, and this time he wrapped Cas’ legs around his waist, and fell onto the bed with him.

Dean pulled back when he decided he needed to breathe, and he turned on the bedside lamp, wanting to see Cas and his beautiful blue eyes.

 

                                                                                                ******

 

Cas frowned to himself, not understanding how his body was reacting. He just knew that what Dean was doing was what he wanted. He looked down at himself. He was hard. And so was Dean.

His frown intensified. He leaned forward and kissed Dean again, softly, and Dean was trailing his fingers down Cas’ stomach and hips.

Those fingers slipped into Cas’ pants, and wrapped around him. Cas was overcome by the sensation, and his hips thrust into Dean’s hand involuntarily.

Dean pressed against him harder, and when Cas followed his lead, putting his hand into Dean’s pants and massaging him, Dean once again pushed his tongue into his mouth.

Cas didn’t understand what was happening but he didn’t want it to stop. Which was what Dean did, just then.

He knelt in the bed, and started tugging down Cas’ pants.

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas unknowingly whimpered, needing him to just keep going. And he picked up where he left off, except his hand wasn’t alone – Dean was using his mouth.

Cas’ eyes closed as he worked Dean with his own hand, feeling complete bliss and slight confusion.

Dean’s mouth, hot and wet, worked Cas in just the right way, and he couldn’t hold himself back.

White hot pleasure, an unfamiliar sensation, seared through Cas, and he rode through the climax, taking Dean by surprise.

“Dean,” he whispered. That seemed to be what pushed Dean over the edge, as his body shuddered and Cas felt hot liquid cover his hand.

******

Dean sagged slightly as he felt his release, and a low, guttural moan escaped his throat. He stayed completely still until he started breathing, laboured. He made his way onto shaky legs

****** 

Cas watched Dean leave the room, and he came back with a towel for Cas’ hand, which he then threw in a basket at the foot of the bed.

He helped Dean as he stumbled back into the bed, fumbling with the lamp. He placed a soft kiss on Dean’s lips as they fell asleep side by side.

 

                                                                                                ******

 

Dean was woken in the morning by the sound of a body hitting the ground. _She must have fallen out of the bed_ , he thought, whatever girl he brought home when he was drunk last night.

As soon as he caught sight of the definitely male profile, he froze. He racked his brains almost desperately, not remembering the previous night.

The bar.

Getting drunk.

. . . Did he bring Cas home? Cas? _Shit._

The taste of salt in his mouth.

 _Oh. Shit_ , he thought. He cursed himself silently, eyes closed, as Cas rubbed the back of his head and stood up.

“Ow,” he said. “I apologise, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He looked extremely apologetic, and Dean was just staring, slack-jawed, in shock.

He practically jumped out of the bed as if he was electrocuted as Cas left to go to the bathroom. He ran a hand through his hair, and kept looking at the bed, to the door Cas just walked out.

He wasn’t gay, so what the hell happened to him last night?

 _Cas is pretty damn attractive_ , he had to admit to himself, _but even then_ . . . He took a deep breath.

 _Not a big deal_ , he thought to himself. _Just a dude, and I was drunk._

He shook his head and pulled on a shirt that he picked up off the cool floor.

When Cas came back in, Dean smiled at him.

“C’mon, we should probably eat and stuff,” he said, as he threw him a shirt.

He led Cas down into the kitchen, where Sam was sitting at the table, drinking coffee.

“Morning guys. Which one of you decided to kiss the floor this morning?” He laughed, knowing one of them fell out of bed.

Dean pointed at Cas, probably blushing like crazy, hoping Sam wouldn’t say anything about the fact that he shared a bed with that guy last night.

Thankfully, all Sam did was check his watch and nearly fall over himself getting up to run out the door.

It was nearly eleven, and Sam was late in meeting with his girlfriend, Jess.

Dean boiled the kettle to make coffee for himself and Cas as he cooked up some eggs and bacon.

“About last night,” he started, rather lamely. “I don’t really . . . I haven’t . . . I’m not gay. I don’t know if you are or not either and either way I’m sorry . . . Um . . . I was just drunk and-”

Cas cut him off, “Don’t apologise. It was strange.” He squinted and tilted his head, “I liked it, Dean. Is that wrong?”

Dean felt his cheeks burning and served their food, avoiding the question. “You can shower if you want, before you go.”

Cas nodded, blue eyes trained on Dean’s. Dean nodded in response, as he sat down to eat.

They ate in silence, and afterwards, Dean picked up the white plates and put them into the sink. He led Cas up the stairs, gave him towels and the clothes he was wearing the night before, showed him the basic shower controls, and left him to it.

Dean showered in the small shower in Sam’s room.

As much as he tried to prevent it, his mind wandered to Cas, in the shower. He could feel himself getting hard and he sighed audibly.

He figured he might as well take care of that, seeing as that particular image wasn’t leaving his head anytime soon. He brought himself to a climax, cleaned himself thoroughly, and stood out of the shower, wrapped in a towel.

He dried himself off and dressed in jeans, an ACDC shirt, his leather jacket, and boots.

He walked into his room, seeing Cas sitting on the edge of the bed, tying his shoes.

“I promised Sam I’d meet up with him and his girl later, I haven’t seen her in a while,” Dean said. “But I think we should hang out again sometime, if you want.”

That drew a small, sideways smile from Castiel. “Yes, Dean,” he replied. “I would like that.”

They shook hands and Cas let himself out of the front door.

"Come back over here on Friday!" He called after him. He waved him off, and made his way upstairs to straighten up his bedroom. 

Dean noticed a small white feather on the bed where Cas had just been sitting.


	4. Sweatpants and Feathers

Dean immediately looked to the window, assuming Cas had opened it. When he saw that it was firmly closed, he frowned, but quickly dismissed the strangeness of the incident. Instead, he turned on his radio, put in his favourite ACDC cassette tape, and turned it up so loud he could feel the beat.  
Banging his head with the rhythm and singing at the top of his lungs, Dean was in his element. After about twenty minutes, he checked his watch.  
He turned off the radio, the sudden silence deafening.  
He nodded to himself, smiling, as he grabbed his car keys from the table. He enjoyed meeting up with Sam and Jess more than he’d admit to anybody.  
Once outside, he slid into his baby, his ’67 Chevy Impala, his soulmate. Running a tender hand over the dashboard, a smile on his face, he switched on the radio, Highway to Hell blasting for the duration of his journey.  
The interior was clean – Dean would kill anybody that disrespected and messed up his baby – and original. It was his pride and joy.  
The wheels glided into the parking lot of the café in which they were meeting, attracting looks from car nuts and shallow women who were probably just thinking he had money and he was attractive.  
Dean stretched once he was out on his feet, a smirk on his handsome face. He saw Sam and Jess walking into the café, hand-in-hand, so he walked behind them, then draped an arm over each of them, walking in the middle.  
“Hey, you two lovebirds, ‘bout time you got here.”  
Sam gave a half-smile, “Hey, jerk.”  
Dean grinned and laughed a little as he replied with a trademark, “Bitch.”  
Jess turned to face both of them, raised her eyebrows while trying not to smile, and in her best “mother” tone of voice, said, “Boys, play nice or I’ll drag you home.”  
Sam immediately gave his finest puppy-eyes, and she relented, kissing him. “Damn, you know that’s adorable,” she said, in a voice that radiated pure kindness and love.  
Dean made a noise like he was retching, grabbing onto a chair to support himself, because his legs obviously couldn’t, in the presence of this _love_ stuff that just made him nauseous.  
After an hour of good coffee and good conversation, jokes and laughter, Sam had mentioned Cas. What he had said was something along the lines of “well at least I don’t have random guys falling out of my bed.”  
As soon as he said it, his eyes flashed with apologetic panic. Dean froze momentarily and his laughter had suddenly turned strained and forced. Jess’ eyebrows raised slightly at the sudden change in the atmosphere.  
Sam drank more of his coffee as an excuse to break eye contact while he desperately thought about what he was going to say.  
Dean hadn’t taken the comment badly, he was just hoping Sam didn’t know and it caught him off-guard.  
Jess was the one to break the awkward silence, bless her.  
She put her cup down and smiled at Dean, completely at ease. “Must have been a very good-looking guy to have gone home with you,” she said, and Dean felt a weird sense of relief.  
“Yeah,” he chuckled. “I was completely wasted too, by the way. No one was more surprised than I was. Besides,” he added. “Just a one-time thing. I’m just friends with the guy.”  
Sam smiled tightly and apologetically. “I guess we’d better head off, we promised Jess’ parents we’d visit them today,” he said, looking terrified as he sighed theatrically, eyebrows raised.  
Jess hit him playfully. “Don’t act like it’s the end of your world or maybe I’ll make it that way,” she warned.  
Sam held up his hands in a _who, me?_ look of exaggerated innocence.  
Dean laughed and hugged both of them as they walked out of the door together. He waved them off as he reunited himself with his baby.  
Pulling the door closed, he yawned contentedly.  
Looking at his watch, he tried to decide what to do with the rest of the day. He ended up pulling into a gas station, fuelling up his baby before getting fuel for himself and Sam.  
He got some cheap microwave food, cereal, frozen tacos, burritos, milk, apple pie (of course), and a copy of _Busty Asian Beauties_.  
Smirking, he flicked through the magazine before slapping it down on the counter.  
Once home, packing the food away, humming Metallica, he allowed himself to sort through the memories of the previous night.  
The thought hit him like a slap in the face.  
He wanted Castiel.  
And he didn’t know what to do with the thought now that it was in his head, clear and uncensored.  
He wanted him. It was that simple.  
Except it wasn’t, not really. But he still wanted it to be Friday, to see Cas again. Not necessarily to do anything, per se, even just to be able to see and talk to him again. He only had to wait one day, and strangely, he found himself anticipating it.  
He cleaned around the house, trying to think about other things, reading _Busty Asian Beauties_ , drinking beer, eating pie . . . And his mind always reset to default: Castiel.  
Castiel, with his incredible blue eyes, slight stubble, innocent smile, soft hands, soft lips . . .  
He consciously reigned in his thoughts at that point.  
Disappointed that it was only 7 o’clock, he decided to go out for a drive.  
He drove around the block a few times, parking by a lake once it started to rain for the sole purpose of admiring the beauty and listening to the sounds.  
When he eventually opened his eyes, he felt his heart quicken his pace. Walking just about fifty feet from the Impala, who else, but the man in the brown trench coat. Castiel.  
Dean rolled down his window and honked the horn twice, waving his other hand. The smile that crept onto his face seemed to appear there of its own accord.  
“Hey, Cas!” He called, as Cas made his way over, he walked around to the passenger seat and sat inside, smiling.  
“Hello, Dean,” he said in his low voice. He looked out of the window, still smiling. “I enjoy the rain. Everything is so beautiful.”  
Dean made a quiet noise of agreement as Cas continued, “I was following a honeybee before the rain started, and it escaped my sight for a brief moment, but it was enough. I don’t know where it went.”  
Dean furrowed his brow and laughed in a way that was saying, “ _riiiiiight_ ”.  
Then he shook his head, “So, you off to anywhere in particular? I mean, I could drive you.”  
Cas squinted while he thought. “No, Dean. I’m not going anywhere.”  
“We could go back to mine and watch a movie or something,” Dean offered, to which Cas nodded.  
And with that, he drove, tired gliding on the glistening road.

 

 

******

As soon as they pulled into Dean’s driveway, he stood out of the Impala, and stretched, yawning.  
He unlocked the door and Cas sat on the couch in the living room, while Dean turned on the TV. He told Cas to pick a movie while he left to get bottles of beer and order a pizza.  
When he went back in, Cas was sitting on the floor in front of a stack of DVDs, looking confused (and pretty adorable, with his head tilted like that and his eyes squinted).  
Dean laughed and tapped his shoulder lightly as he offered Cas a hand.  
Pulling him up, he said, “Okay, you open the beer, I’ll pick the movie.”  
After about five minutes, they were both sitting on the couch in sweatpants and ACDC shirts, when Dean decided on one of his favourites; The Avengers.  
As soon as he put it in, the doorbell rang.  
“Perks of living close to a pizza place,” he chuckled as he went to the door, grabbing his wallet.  
He came back in, box in one hand, wallet in the other, and a receipt in his mouth.  
Placing the open pizza box on the small coffee table, he smiled, “Dig in!”  
Cas gingerly took a slice as Dean sat next to him. He took a bite, and Dean noticed that his eyebrows raised, as if he was surprised.  
“You, uh, you don’t eat pizza much then?” He asked.  
Cas looked down and laughed quietly, “No, not much.”  
They sat through the movie mostly in silence, Cas occasionally commenting on the accuracy of Thor (whatever he meant by that) and Dean exclaiming and laughing every time someone was hit or something exploded, which was pretty often.  
At the end, they sat through the credits because Dean didn’t want to miss “the shwarma scene”, as he called it.  
Afterwards, Dean leaned forward for the remote to initiate channel-surfing, and he held onto Cas’ knee for the necessary leverage for the task. But he didn’t let go.  
If anything, his hand moved up as he sat back, so he was currently touching Cas’ thigh.  
He told some joke, and as they both laughed, Dean leaned forward and kissed him. He cupped Cas’ face while kissing him, and felt Cas’ lost hands find their home on his hips.


	5. Hipbones and Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, I've been busy with college and being sick so I didn't have the chance to write much, but this is what I have so far, I promise the next one will be longer;-;

Dean felt those hands clinging to his hipbones, almost in desperation, as those innocent lips stole the very breath from his lungs. He pulled Cas as close to his own body as he possibly could, like he was trying to merge them into one being, like he couldn’t remember living before he had Cas on his lips.  
He allowed one of his hands to trace down Cas’ side, feeling warm skin over taut muscle and hard bone. His hand slid around Cas’ lower back in a bid to press as much of their bodies together as possible.   
As one set of fingers dug further into Dean’s hips, the others came up to gently touch his cheek. Dean softly bit Cas’ lower lip, and they both pushed apart as suddenly as they had become one.  
They stared, unsure and in shock but their eyes found each other’s lips and then shirts hit the floor by fault of Dean’s talented hands.  
Dean trailed a finger along Cas’ jawline, then took his hand as he led him up the stairs to the bedroom.  
Pushing Cas back onto the bed, he kissed him deeply as one hand massaged him through the sweatpants. That hand slid into Cas’ pants and then the pants were discarded, as Dean rummaged in a drawer.   
Cas helped Dean shed his own pants, they were just getting in the way.  
Dean pulled a bottle of lube and a condom out of the drawer, and as Cas worked his hardness, he squirted some lube in his hand.  
He gently placed his free hand on Cas’ busy one.  
“I’ll take care of you,” he said softly. “I got you.”  
Their eyes met, and Cas nodded his consent.  
Dean rubbed the lube on Cas, and slipped a finger inside him. As he worked Cas with one hand, the other was busy tearing open the condom, with the help of his teeth, and putting it on himself.   
He added another finger when he thought it was starting to feel good for Cas, rather than just strange.  
“Dean,” Cas whispered breathlessly.   
Dean’s response was to guide Cas’ hand to his hardness, once he was certain the condom was secure.  
Cas looked at him with inquisitiveness, and a desperation that threatened to overwhelm him, as he moved his hand away.  
“Now, Dean. Please,” he practically whimpered.  
Dean nodded as he moved Cas’ legs to his own sides and removed his fingers. He slid the head and shaft into Cas, slowly, and braced himself as he bottomed out.  
Cas whispered something so quietly that Dean had to ask him to repeat it, pressing his cheek to Cas’.  
“ . . . love . . . you. . .” He whispered. Dean pulled back and stared, his hardness aching.   
“Cas?” He asked, green eyes soft and hopeful, but fearful.  
Cas suddenly looked afraid, as if he just realised what he’d said, and thinking it might have been the wrong thing to say.  
“I’m sorry,” he said breathlessly. “I’m sorry. Please, move.”  
Dean nodded and kissed him as he moved slowly.  
It wasn’t just fucking anymore, not just sex; this was love.  
He didn’t want to admit that he’d fallen for Cas before this, but it was apparent now in the gentleness of his touch, how he wanted Cas – all of Cas – and he wanted him to feel safe and comfortable and loved.  
Dean emitted a quiet moan as he came, whispering, “I got you, baby, it’s okay, I got you,” as he worked Cas to the same fate.  
Cas’ body stilled as he let out a quiet, strangled whimper.  
Dean softly stroked Cas’ face as he slid out, and he sat up to look at him in the dim light of the room.  
“I think I love you, Cas,” he admitted. He kissed him slowly, and heard a quiet, “Oh God. Oh my God, I’m sorry” from Sam and the bedroom door closing.  
Dean swore under his breath as he slipped on a pair of sweatpants and kissed Cas again.  
“One minute,” he said as he left the room. Sam was in his own bedroom.  
Dean cursed inwardly, rubbing the bridge of his nose before mustering the courage to knock.  
He opened the door once he heard a “yeah?” that sounded a bit awkward.  
He smiled tightly at Sam before sitting on the edge of his bed.  
“Now I know what you’re thinking-“ he began, but Sam interrupted.  
“You were naked. And kissing. Like . . . On the-”  
“But-” Dean protested, cutting himself off by closing his eyes and sighing.  
Sam looked extremely confused and a little scared.  
“You kissed on the butt?” He asked, aghast.   
“What? No,” Dean exclaimed, his expression saying what the hell, is he crazy?  
Then Sam laughed, and Dean felt the atmosphere lighten.  
“Hey, Sammy, I don’t know what it is, but I just really like the guy, and I don’t know what it is that I’m supposed to do.”  
“Who says you have to do anything?” Sam smiled and lightly slapped Dean’s shoulder. “You worry too much. Just . . . Let it happen.”  
Dean stood and hugged Sam before going back to Cas.  
He took his pants off as those blue eyes watched him, climbing under the covers and wrapping his arms around Cas.  
They were woken in the afternoon by Sam knocking on the door and telling them, “Up and at ‘em, guys!”  
It was just gone midday, the sun bright and the air pleasantly warm.  
Dean was in the shower when Cas, still in sweatpants and with no shirt, ascended the stairs to the kitchen. He grinned at Sam.  
“I trust you slept well,” he nodded to him.  
Sam beamed in return. “Like an oversized baby, Cas.”  
Cas tilted his head, the barest hint of a smile on his lips now, and said, “Very oversized. I know of no baby that is stands at over six feet tall, or that has the ability to stand at all.”  
The problem started when the doorbell rang, and Sam answered the door only to stand face-to-face with John Winchester.


	6. Love is Nonsense

John stood at the door, smiling tightly, while Sam was frozen. He had angled the door so Cas was hidden from view.   
"Uh, one second," Sam blurted, and pushed the door until it was almost closed.   
"Cas, get a shirt on and get Dean out of the shower. It's our dad."   
Cas' response was to walk up the stairs and into Sam's bedroom, where a damp Dean was just wrapping himself in a towel.   
He frowned upon hearing Sam quietly talking. "Who's that?"  
Cas met his eyes. "Your father."  
Dean immediately straightened up and there seemed to be a sudden fire in his eyes. He grabbed his boots and jeans and motioned to the door. "You need to get dressed and if you're going to be downstairs with him, say as little as possible. I'll handle the talking," he said tersely.   
Minutes later, Dean walked down the stairs to see Sammy, Cas, now wearing his suit and trenchcoat, and yes, their father.   
Dean's eyes shifted between Sam and John.   
Cas noticed how they held themselves in his presence. Sam; tense and defensive. Dean; strangely submissive and slightly reluctant to make eye contact.   
"I'm John," he said, holding out his hand. "You must be Cas."  
Cas looked to Dean, who nodded almost imperceptibly, before shaking John's hand. "Yes. That is correct."  
John squinted slightly as he looked at both Cas and Dean.   
"Just thought I'd drop by, haven't seen you boys in a while," he said, half-smiling.   
"A year," Sam replied tensely, jaw clenching. Staring at the ground. Refusing to make eye contact.   
John's gaze kept shifting between Cas and Dean.   
Dean kept wiping at his mouth, convinced that the activities of the previous night were outlined there, plain as day. He could almost feel it, and felt that John would be able to see it, if he just looked close enough.   
It was at that moment that John's eyes widened fractionally; he seemed to have clicked why Cas wasn't wearing a shirt initially, why he was even there at all, and it made him uncomfortable.   
He shifted slightly in his seat on the couch.   
"So, Cas," he said, awkwardness apparent in his voice. "How long have you known my boys?"  
Cas tilted his head slightly and squinted, and at this, John caught Dean turning his head away to smile. "I met Sam and Dean about four days ago."  
John stilled momentarily, before forcing a smile and nodding. "Is that so?"  
Four days and this weird guy was walking around their house, shirtless. John didn't want Sam around that sort of thing, and Dean was the last person he expected to have any involvement in it.   
Dean clenched his jaw. "Yes, sir," he said, blazing eyes staring into John's.   
At that, John sighed and shook his head, muttering under his breath.   
"What was that?" Dean asked, and the tension in the atmosphere doubled. It was so noticeable that even Cas shifted uncomfortably.   
"I said . . . You shouldn't be exposing Sam to that kind of nonsense."  
Dean breathed in deeply, willing himself to calm, as he nearly whispered, "excuse me?"  
They stared at each other, and Sam spoke up in their defense: "No, dad, it's not like that, it-"  
"Are you saying you don't know? The way Dean looks at him, it's disgustingly obvious."   
Cas, feeling uncharacteristically uncomfortable, asked, "would it be better if I come back later, Dean?"  
John said yes at the same time Dean said no.   
Dean held John's gaze, unwavering, as he told Cas, "no, Castiel, stay. It's alright."  
John sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.   
"What?" Dean asked sharply. "Would you rather I had some naked, brainless skank walking around here?"  
Sam blushed fiercely - it was something Dean had actually done before.   
"Yeah, Dean, I would, as a matter of fact."  
Dean's hands curled into tight fists as he licked his lips.   
"So you'd rather I expose Sam to a pair of tits and an overused vagina rather than to a guy who just wasn't wearing a shirt? Really?" He asked, incredulous.   
John's response was to shrug. He looked Cas up and down, expression uneasy.   
"All I'm saying is that it isn't right, Dean. It's _not natural_ ," he seemed to be trying to reason with his son, but Dean had so many walls up he was like a goddamn castle.   
It wouldn't take a genius to read the unmistakable anger in his stance, the anger that made his green eyes hard and unwelcoming. It was so potent that he was shaking.  
"You need to go, dad," Sam said, cutting off Dean's rant before it saw the light of day.   
For a split second, John looked like he wanted to stay and argue - _no boys I didn't mean to start anything_ \- but thought better of it, hung his head. He nodded to himself, smiling tensely as he let himself out.   
Nobody was going to fall over themselves to assist him.   
  
******  
  
The tension lingered in the air, hung like a guy on the receiving end of a lynch mob, until Dean's shoulders sagged and whatever he was holding in was released in one hard, shaky exhalation.   
At that, Cas looked at Dean. A large number of his walls had fallen. He was vulnerable, and it showed. His green eyes held fear, focusing on Sam as he rested a hand on Dean's shaking arm.   
The walls were slowly set back up, it was apparent in the stiffness Dean was feigning. He was trying to control the whirlwind of emotions - fear, rage, guilt, anxiety, pride, sadness - as he willed his eyes to meet Cas'.   
"Sorry about that," he said, forcing a smile. "What do you guys say to just watching a movie and getting pizza soon? Sam, you could invite Jess," he offered, smile bordering on shattering into tears and racking sobs.

Cas placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder and smiled encouragingly.

He led Dean to sit on the couch after he interpreted that that was what Sam by jerking his head toward the couch, and looking at Cas pointedly.

They sat and talked about what movie to watch while Sam phoned Jess. Ten tension-filled minutes later, the knocking on the door was welcomed and silenced by Sam.

Jess kissed him and beamed as she stepped in. “Hey guys! You all okay?” She genuinely cared about them, including Cas, even though she didn’t know him. “Thanks for inviting me over.”

Dean stood and hugged her, smiling easily. “Hey, Jess. We’re all good, not dead yet,” he laughed. “We decided on Iron Man 3.”

She rolled her eyes and then they rested on Cas. She grinned at him warmly. “I’m Jess,” she said, offering her hand.

Cas stood, accepting and shaking her hand. “I am Castiel. Sam has talked about you,” he said, and Sam had to turn away to hide his blush.

“He has?” Her eyebrow raised as she fought to tone down her smile. Then she stopped. “Oh. _You’re_ Castiel? Oh it’s lovely to meet you! Dean told me a little about you,” she winked conspiratorially.

“Okay!” Dean said loudly, clapping once to divert the conversation as he put the DVD in. “Who’s ready for Iron Man to kick ass?”

While the trailers played, Sam brought out beer, and Dean microwaved popcorn and ordered pizza. Jess paid the delivery guy when he brought said pizza (Sam paid her back nearly instantly), and Cas sat watching them quietly.

Sam and Jess cuddled on one side of the couch, content with the beer and food, while Dean and Cas sat on the other end, close to touching.

About ten minutes into the movie, Dean let his head fall to rest on Cas’ right shoulder. His left hand may have sneakily intertwined with Cas’, which elicits a small smile from Cas, and smirks and raised eyebrows from the other happy couple.

Jess couldn’t contain a small giggle when Dean sneaked a kiss from Cas. He didn’t care anymore. Whatever he and Cas had between them had pretty much been completely outed by their dad anyway, and Sam speculated during lunch with Jess and Dean the day before.

So he didn’t care.

He still blushed and smiled sheepishly, but he was happy.

Cas smiled each and every time Dean kissed him.

During the movie, they went through two six-packs of beer, four bowls of popcorn, and the entire 18-inch pizza.

Two heated debates ( _Aldrich Killian_ is _better than Iron Man! Are you out of your mind? Iron Man is way superior!_ ) and one tickle fight between Jess and Sam, the movie ended.

Jess squealed quietly, clapping her hands over her mouth, every time Cas and Dean kissed, or she just thought they were being cute. Which was a lot.

Sam started looking around for more movies, and instead came up triumphant with board games.

So it seemed they were going to have a game night.

And Cas chose Twister.


	7. It's Love, Dude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. I sorta mentally figured out maybe where I'm going to go with this story. It was originally meant to be a one-shot, just a small thing I wrote when I was bored in class, but I feel like it's going to be a lot longer than I imagined.   
> So leave comments, kudos, ask questions and everything else cos I love getting feedback. You could give suggestions on something for me to work in?   
> Anyway, ENJOY THE CHAPTER c:

 

Jess was giggling hysterically while spinning the wheel for Twister. Sam, Dean and Cas were contorted into inhuman shapes, just barely keeping their bodies from hitting the ground.

Sam was bent over both Dean and Cas, hands and feet directly opposite from each other on each side of the mat.

Cas was in a crab-like position, one foot under Sam, one under himself while propping himself up with a hand behind him.

Dean had one leg between Cas’, a hand next to his.

As Jess called out the next move for Dean, he was forced to place an arm over Cas onto a yellow circle. Grimacing as he maneuvered, he grunted and steadied himself. Then lifted his head, which was mere millimetres from Cas’.

The room went silent, or at least it felt like that for them.

Jess was watching with a hopeful expression, and Sam couldn’t see anything because he was exerting himself too much to give a shit.

They were just about to kiss, leaning in slowly, carefully, gently . . .

When Sam’s hand slipped and he crashed on top of them, a mess of limbs, a heap on the floor, erupting in fits of laughter, so strenuous for Dean that he wasn’t even making any noise, just doubled up on his side, clutching his stomach, unable to breathe, with the most beautiful smile, and tears streaming down his cheeks.

Cas looked at him and was worried, brow furrowed, looking at Sam then with a silent question; _Is he in pain? Is he okay?_

Sam just grinned as he let the laughter work itself out of his own system, taking in a breath to say, “He’s fine, Cas. Don’t worry.”

He shot another look at Dean curled up on floor and couldn’t help but to start laughing again.

At this, Cas watched them both fondly, taking Jess offered hand in order to get off of the cold floor. She lovingly watched Sam curl into a foetal position next to Dean, laughing too hard, nearly getting themselves under control until they caught each other’s attention and it started all over again.

After five minutes of that cycle, Sam and Dean used each other as props to get to their feet.

Red-faced, both out of breath, they sat at the couch, Sam pulling Jess onto his lap, and Dean looking at Cas with a suggestive grin, threatening the same.

He, instead, stood, and cupped Cas’ face before kissing him, softly, all lust and love and whispered promises. He kissed him like a feather, ghosting over his lips, before letting himself be firm, holding Cas’ hips while arms around Dean’s neck pulled him in closer. It was like rain after a long drought, that kiss, like sunlight to eyes that hid away in the dark, like a deep breath after being submerged in cold, unforgiving water.

It was bliss.

It was needed.

It was heaven.

They pulled apart and it felt the same as putting a glass of water in front of a man dying of thirst and telling him he can’t drink. They wanted, oh, _how_ they wanted, but with a loud “Ahem” from Sam, they were brought back to realise the fact that they weren’t alone.

They dragged their gazes away from each other, Dean feeling his face burning up, and Cas’ blue eyes reverting to their usual trademark squint.

Sam and Jess shared a knowing look, and not wanting to come between Dean and Cas, she said, “I’m gonna get Sam to bring me back to my place, and I’ll send him back over to you guys when I’m done with him, tomorrow morning.” She winked, and Dean smiled shyly at her.

Shyly.

Sam’s eyes widened when he saw this in his brother, this . . . this alien emotion that nearly never graced Dean’s features.

He took a tiny step back, eyes widened fractionally, practically doing a double-take, and yeah, the shyness was there, all right, and all too real.

Dean’s hands were held in front of him, fingers twisting, and he was looking down at them now, smiling and blushing.

Dean was shy.

He felt his heart warm as he realised; Dean really, truly liked this guy.  
So when Dean bashfully raised his green eyes, the warm smile that Sam gave him was completely genuine.  
Jess hugged both Dean and Cas, promising to see both of them again soon, and Sam followed suit, hugging both of them before leaving, holding Jess’ slender hand.  
The door hadn’t even fully closed before Cas found himself being pushed up against it, catching a brief glance of intense green eyes as a mouth made its home on his. The kiss conveyed hunger and love, his mouth soft, all pliant lips, tongues and teeth.  
Hands were grabbing at his clothes, and he let himself be guided, hoping that he was assisting Dean more than he was being a hindrance.   
His own hands seemed to have a mind of their own as they seperated Dean’s clothes from his lean body.   
A pile of clothes on the cool floor, and a tangle of limbs and Dean found himself on his back on the couch, Cas straddling his hips.  
Dean’s hips bucked involuntarily, eyes fluttering closed, as Cas grinded him, rubbing their hardening cocks together through their boxers.  
Cas was emitting low moans, and Dean was biting back his, breath held.  
He saw the small, wet, dark spot of pre-come on Castiel’s boxers, and was pretty sure there was a similar spot on his own.   
His hands slowly slipped around to grab Cas’ ass, grinding them together harder, the sweet friction nearly sending him over the edge.  
“Cas, Cas, Cas’,” he whispered as he kissed him, sitting up while holding Cas’ lower back and the nape of his neck.  
“Gonna make you feel good,” he breathed into Cas’ ear, standing with him in his arms as easily as if he stood up empty-handed.   
Cas’ legs securely wrapped around Dean’s waist. His mouth worked on Dean’s neck, teeth nipping, tongue then smoothing over the area as he sucked on it.  
Dean carried him up the stairs, moaning, “Oh God, Cas,” whenever Cas did something with his mouth that Dean particularly liked.  
When Cas nipped at Dean’s ear, he heard Dean let out a strangled noise and felt the vibration travel from Dean, through his own body.  
Cas was slammed against the wall. They didn’t even make it to the bedroom, not more than five feet away.   
Cas planted one foot on the hardwood floor, while Dean held the other around his waist for leverage, as he started rutting against Cas once more.   
He tangled his other hand in Cas’ hair as he kissed him, desperate for the delicious friction between their bodies. Cas was gasping without intent, and this seemed to just spur Dean on, biting Cas’ lip and moaning.

Dean picked Cas up once more, scraping his teeth on Cas’ neck, before twisting and falling onto the bed with him.

Cas landed on his back, which Dean saw as an opportunity to straddle him. He slipped one hand between his own body and Cas’, rubbing Cas’ now definitely hard cock, massaging him through the cotton. His fingers curled slightly as he worked, gasping into Cas’ open mouth.

He pulled back then, sliding off Cas’ boxers as swiftly and easily as if it was second nature.

He cupped his face as he pushed his tongue against Cas’, licking into his mouth any time he could.

Singlehandedly, he removed his own boxers, not breaking the kiss. He held both his and Cas’ cock in one hand, working them sweetly, teasing small noises out of both of their mouths.

Cas was then slipping a bottle of lube into Dean’s hand, panting, not even bothering with a condom. Just wanting him. Wanting Dean.

Dean was grateful; he didn’t want anything, not even a layer of latex, to be between him and Castiel. Not today.

Dean sat up, lubing up his hard cock, legs swung over the side of the bed. He guided Cas to straddle his hips, one knee propping him up on either side of Dean’s magnificent body.

He moaned into Dean’s ear when he felt his dick slip inside him. He braced himself by holding Dean’s shoulders, lowering himself slowly until he was sure Dean had bottomed out.

Biting Dean’s lip, riding him, feeling hands on his back and breath on his face, he was in love. And that was it, really.

He was in love.

Cas came a few seconds before Dean, his body freezing, vision whiting, muscles tightening, the only sound a strangled noise that pushed out of Cas’ lungs.

Dean’s orgasm was just as blindingly wonderful, vision going white, but his noise was much quieter. With a tightening of his strong hands on Cas’ skin and muscles, a low, guttural moan was all that escaped his struggling lungs.

They were both shaking from the force.

Neither moved away, didn’t even think about it, until their breathing evened and they felt they could stand without their legs giving way.

Cas slowly raised himself, allowing Dean to slip out. Dean walked to the bathroom, bowlegs wobbly, and came back with a damp washcloth which he used to clean himself, and then to clean Cas. He then threw it into a basket by the door.

He crawled back into the bed, propping himself up on an elbow, holding his arms out to Castiel, sitting on the edge.

They moved under the blankets, Cas burying his face in Dean’s chest, Dean resting his chin on Cas’ head, occasionally dropping a kiss or two.

He circled his thumb on Cas’ bicep, holding him tightly, and didn’t let himself fall asleep until he knew Cas was.

He would keep Cas safe.

 

 


	8. A Plethora of Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit's about to get interesting, guys.

Dean was woken during the night by Cas stirring occasionally, and Dean would hold him tighter, whispering, “Shh, baby, it’s okay, I got you,” into his ear.

Cas suddenly started kissing him, sleepily, and Dean reciprocated. He brushed Cas’ hair from his eyes and held him once he settled back into a comfortable position.

“We’ll get up in a couple hours, go back to sleep,” Dean murmured. He felt Cas nod, and satisfied that nothing was wrong, drifted back to sleep.

In the morning, he felt Cas stretching his arms and legs, felt him roll away, heard a dull thud and a muttered “ow” as he fell out of the bed.

Dean laughed as he sat up, rolling over to the side to offer Cas a hand. Or he intended to.

He rolled too far and landed on top of Cas, both of them groaning, both from slight pain and intense sleepiness.

While Dean was on top of Cas, he took advantage of their positions to kiss Cas, lingering with their lips together, stroking Cas’ cheek.

Cas’ expression suddenly stilled, and he stood up, still naked but uncaring, and walked to the window. He peeked out through the curtains, and Dean could swear he _saw_ him miss a beat. He took a step back.

Dean pushed himself to his feet and wrapped his arms around Cas’ waist, looking out the window to the empty street. “Babe, you okay?”

Cas nodded after hesitating. “Yes. Perhaps you should shower.”

Dean’s mouth turned down, considering this, then nodded, “You’re probably right. I will go shower.” He kissed Cas’ cheek, before squeezing him tightly and going to shower.

As soon as the door locked, Cas was on the move. He pulled on the boxers and sweatpants he’d discarded the night before, and rushed down the stairs. He pulled a can of spray paint out of the pocket of his trenchcoat.

He sprayed a pentagram with other symbols in front of the door and poured a sprinkling of salt he hoped wasn’t too noticeable in front of the other windows and doors.

And then cursed himself internally for _spray painting Dean’s floor oh my God why did I do that?_

He pulled the doormat over it, the edges of the design peeking out, hoping it was enough.

He double-checked the lines of salt, making sure they weren’t broken and praying to _God_ they weren’t broken.

He stopped when he heard the water of the shower shut off. _Shit._

How do you explain something like this? To . . . Normal people? Not even normal, it’s _Dean fucking Winchester._

What if Dean decided he was crazy and left and told him to never make contact again?

Cas pushed those thoughts from his mind and tried once more to cover up the symbol on floor with a mat that was too small to do that.

He rubbed his forehead and sighed, just as Dean bounded down the stairs in a towel. Any hope Cas had of Dean not seeing the symbols evaporated instantly when he peered at the ground, confused.

“Uh . . . Cas? What’s that on the floor?” He asked.

Cas squinted. “I can explain.”

“Dude, is that spray paint? You _painted_ my _floor_?”

At least he looked more confused than angry.

Cas turned his mouth to the side. He was about to open his mouth to make an excuse ( _It’s nothing, it was meant to be a joke, Dean_ ) when Dean pulled back the damn mat, and yep, his eyebrows definitely shot up, he was most definitely thinking some weird things about Castiel in that moment.

“You into some Satanic worshipping thing, Cas? Cos I gotta say, I know a pentagram is a symbol of protection, but I don’t know squat about what the other ones mean,” Dean said, looking at Cas.

After Cas was floundering for an explanation, Dean shook his head ( _He can do what he wants, he isn’t hurting anyone. Cas wouldn’t hurt a fly)_ and walked to the window to see the weather.

And frowned. _What the- . . ._

He swiped his finger along the windowsill. _Salt?_

“Okay, Cas. I wasn’t gonna ask. But now I have to. Salt? Why is there salt up here?” Dean asked, then noticed Cas’ face fall.

Dean had broken the salt line.

Just as Dean glanced back to the salt, the symbols, and Cas’ face, the window smashed, glass everywhere.

A man stood crouching in front of the broken windowsill, wasting no time in straightening and punching Dean to the ground.

“Castiel,” he growled.

He punched like a goddamn sledgehammer. Dean could feel consciousness slipping away. _I have to . . . Help Cas . . ._

The last thing he saw before he passed out was Cas placing his hand on this guy with the black eyes and a blinding flash of white light.

******

 

He woke up on the couch, naked but covered in blankets. His head pounded, and as he lifted his hand to it, he saw Cas standing next to him with a glass of water and some painkillers.

He took them from Cas’ hand, eyeing him warily, wincing.

He swallowed, mouth and throat dry. “How long have I been out?”

“A bit more than an hour,” Cas admitted.

Dean sat up slowly, and froze when he saw the guy laying on the ground.

Or, technically, his corpse.

His eyes were burned out of his head. Not there anymore. His eye sockets were _burned_ and empty.

Dean tore his eyes away to look at Cas, fear evident in his expression.

“Cas, what did you do?” Dean asked, voice hoarse.

He swallowed the pills and water and looked directly at Cas.

“You . . . You wouldn’t believe me, Dean,” Cas said, directing his gaze to his feet.

He closed his eyes briefly and sent out a silent message.

This body couldn’t be here when Sam or Dean got home.

“Dean. Get dressed, we’ll go for a walk and we’ll talk,” Cas offered.

Dean nodded, confused and unsure, but it only took him a minute to shrug on his clothes and boots.

As soon as they were outside, Dean kept shooting sideways wary glances at Cas.

Cas led them to a park bench, and sat, motioning for Dean to do the same.

“I know you must have a plethora of questions for me, Dean, bu-”

“Yeah, Cas,” he interrupted. “Did you just fucking kill a guy in my damn house? Like seriously?”

“Yes. And no.”

“Cas, what the hell does that even mean?”

Cas directed his blue eyes to the ground, the grass, the birds – anywhere but Dean and his accusations. Which, Cas supposed, he couldn’t be blamed for. But how does one explain a situation of this nature?

“Right,” Dean snapped. “Well I guess _I_ should go get rid of the body, then. I’m not going to jail for you.” He walked off in the direction of his house, Cas on his heels.

“Dean!” He protested.

Dean just kept walking.

As soon as he got into his house, he closed the door before Cas had the chance to follow him inside. He walked straight past the living room into the kitchen, then froze. He backed up.

The body was gone.

 

******

 

That fact had just clicked in Dean’s brain when everything went black.


	9. But What Else Could it Be?

Dean came to, tied to a chair. His arms and legs ached. He must’ve been sitting for a while, and the ropes were digging into his skin.

_Son of a bitch._

He pulled at the ropes, to no avail. He found himself yelling for Cas.

After struggling until his wrists and ankles were dripping blood due to the rough ropes, he noticed the man, leaning with one leg against the dark wall, who was mostly hidden by the shadows of the corner.

“Winchester,” he sneered, eyes black.

Dean froze. “What the hell are you?”

The man laughed, seemingly because of Dean’s use of the word “hell”.

“What am I? Oh, sweetheart, I’m a demon,” he said, stroking the olive skin of the man he was wearing. Voice like velvet. Eyes like a goddamn pit.

“And you,” he said cheerfully, straightening up, “are going to be . . . _so much fun._ ”

Dean felt himself shaking, from exertion and fear, and he couldn’t stop.

“What do you want with me?” He nearly yelled at the black-eyed son of a bitch.

“To tear your fucking skin off, you imbecile,” the demon snapped, baring white teeth. “I found you. I tracked you. You’re _mine_. Boss said, “fine, Nybras ( _See notes at end of chapter_ ), but only if you swear on your life he doesn’t make it out of this.” So what the hell,” he grinned, clapping his hands together. “You aren’t getting out of this. I’m going to tear your skin off,” he whispered into Dean’s ear, trailing his fingernails down Dean’s cheek. “Strip, by strip, and then I’ll remove each appendage, one, by fucking one.”

He moved so he was in Dean’s direct line of vision, crouched so he was at Dean’s eye-level. His eyes flashed black once more.

He pulled a metal table with wheels away from behind Dean, moving it in front of him. On the table, there was an array of weapons – knives, vials of liquids, syringes, a sledgehammer, pliers, and the like.

Dean froze, eyes glued to the objects that screamed held promises of pain.

Nybras’ hand seemed to guide itself to an extremely sharp and serrated knife. He held it up, inspecting it.

“Mmm,” he exhaled, eyes closed in anticipation of the pleasure he would get out of this. He licked his lips.

Dean started struggling against his restraints, gasping in pain as the ropes tore at his raw, bleeding skin.

Nybras dragged the tip of the knife lightly up Dean’s forearm, then made a shallow cut. Just enough to bleed, not enough to cause any substantial pain.

He moved around some of the objects on the tray, and came up with some table salt.

An evil grin snaked onto his face.

He made a deeper cut into the previous one, baring white teeth. Then upended the open salt into said wound.

Despite himself, Dean bit his lip so hard it bled and barely, just barely, supressed a scream.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered in a quiet, pained voice.

“Hm? What was that, buddy?” Nybras tilted closer to Dean, as if he was trying to hear him better. “You want something better? Well, alright baby, cos you asked so sweetly.”

“Go to Hell you son of a bitch!” Dean spat.

“Hm,” Nybras nodded slowly, as if considering. “I’ve been there, it’s not as . . . Garish, as everyone who’s topside seems to think.”

After some debate, he decided on the pliers.

He picked them up, twirling them between nimble fingers.

“You need your fingernails, Dean? I wouldn’t think so. Would you? Of course not,” he replied to himself cheerfully, this one-sided conversation doing nothing to raise Dean’s spirits.

Dean spat at his feet, glaring at his dark eyes.

Nybras took the stance of a disapproving parent, with the authorative tone to match.

“Is that any way to behave? Around _me_?! _Dean_!?” He yelled, punching Dean squarely on the jaw.

He took a second to compose himself. Rubbing his knuckles, he shook his head.

“See what you made me do? I didn’t want it to be this way,” he sighed theatrically. “Just hold still, okay baby?”

He was practically cooing at Dean at this point, inching the pliers closer to Dean’s fingers.

The pliers had just found the purchase they were itching for on the end of Dean’s fingernails, when Nybras froze, and straightened, eyes seeming to be focused somewhere in the distance.

He sighed. “Yes, master,” he said, apparently to nobody. Dean looked more confused in that instant than scared, but the fear was still evident.

He shook his head minutely, then set back to work. Wasting no time, he promptly tore out one of Dean’s nails, then immediately poured salt over the area, causing Dean to involuntarily cry out in pain.

Nybras repeated the process with three other nails (both index and ring fingers, because he “would need the middle finger looking pretty for when he final stood up to Daddy”), and then set down the pliers, contemplating internally.

He grinned when he reached a satisfactory decision, and lifted the sledgehammer as easily as a kitten.

A kitten that he was going to use to break Dean’s bones.

Nybras lined the sledgehammer up with Dean’s left knee, inhaling deeply and so contented that Dean, in his terrified state of mind, could think of nothing besides how Nybras was probably going to come right then and there in his goddamn pants, and then he was lifting the fucking hammer and Dean heard the sickening snap of bone breaking and the pop of cartilage just giving up, and then the pain.

_Oh my God, the pain._

A scream tore out of Dean’s throat, just tearing and wrenching and doing sweet fuck all to alleviate the pain.

Dean was torn between struggling with his bonds and staying completely still, so he ended up flexing his hands then coiling them into fists, body shaking, a tear trailing down his cheek and then - well _fuck_ , there goes his other knee - _THANK YOU VERY FUCKING MUCH NYBRAS -_ and Dean was yelling, incoherent words, eyes squeezed shut, vision whiting out anyway.

He was panting from the intensity of the pain, gritting his teeth.

Then Nybras kicked his legs, and as Dean yelled, he heard a door open.

Tears blurring his vision, he opened his eyes and saw a very dishevelled Castiel.

Nybras lunged at him, stumbling, and Castiel held up a hand in defense, and accidentally had placed his hand on Nybras’ forehead.

“SHIELD YOUR EYES!” Castiel yelled, and Nybras, flinching, kicked Dean’s shin again, causing his eyes to close due to the pain anyway.

Dean heard a body hit the floor after a flash of light, smelled burning meat, and grimaced, whimpering quietly in pain as he opened his eyes.

Castiel looked down at Dean, brow furrowed in extreme worry. He cut the ropes tying Dean to the chair, as carefully as he could to avoid more agony.

A pointless attempt, but the thought was nice.

Castiel held up two fingers, pressed them directly between Dean’s eyebrows, and Dean literally felt like the broken bones were being put back together in the blink of an eye, pushing together as easily as Dean’s and Cas’ lips did in memory.

He struggled to catch his breath, and when he did, all he could think about was _what the hell Cas just did to me_ and then his gaze shot upward to make eye contact.

“You’re a demon,” he accused.

“Dean,” Castiel dismissed. “We don’t have a lot of time, you need to come with me.”

Dean just blinked. And stared.

Though he had to admit, Cas taking control like this _was_ immensely fucking hot.

He was pulled from his thoughts when Castiel placed his hand on Dean’s left shoulder, and Dean felt a sharp burn.

All of a sudden, he was in his house.

Alone.

 

*******

 

Castiel was outside, somewhere cold and snowing, by a lake. He was pacing furiously. How do you explain this to someone who has nothing to do with the supernatural? Dean was just a normal guy.

He stopped pacing, and looked up to the sky.

“What do I do?” He asked aloud. “Do I tell him the truth? Take all of the demon information from his brain? Train him? Father, I need your guidance. Please.”

“Father, please, just send me a sign. That’s all I’m asking of you.”

Unless the new feathering of snow that fell from the sky was the sign Castiel needed, he didn’t receive one.

 

******

 

Dean searched frantically and came up empty-handed. It was at the exact moment that he picked up a glass and threw it at the wall that Sam came through the front door.

He flinched and ducked reflexively at the sound of a smash and nearly fell.

“Dean, what the hell!” He yelled.

Dean’s hands covered his face, and Sam rushed to close the door, and offer his big brother what comfort he could.

He hugged him tightly, not yet asking him to speak, just trying to calm him.

When his legs started aching, he got Dean to sit on the couch.

Sam sat next to him, not wanting to give off a confrontational vibe.

“What happened, man? Is it Cas?” He asked softly.

Dean noticeably tense at Cas’ name, then sighed heavily.

“It’s nothing, Sam,” he lied. How the fuck was he going to get out of this one?

Sam didn’t say anything, just stared at Dean so hard he could probably feel it, until he lifted his eyes.

And then Sam could tell by the look in those eyes, it was most certainly not “nothing”. He looked absolutely freaked out.

Sam’s brow furrowed in concern.

“That’s bullshit, Dean. What. Happened?” He repeated.

Dean reacted by trying to put on an air of bravado and nonchalance, but as soon as he maintained eye contact for longer than two seconds, that air crumbled in a way similar to how he felt his relationship with Cas had.

Or was currently.

All pretenses gone, Dean stared at Sam. And decided to tell him the truth.

Which, of course, Sam didn’t believe, trying to convince Dean, and maybe himself even more, that it was just a hallucination, some guy messing with him, maybe, or something like that.

“I mean, how could he get rid of a body that quickly? How could you look okay if you apparently were tortured?” Sam suggested. “Maybe Cas drugged you or something, man. He doesn’t look the type, I’ll give him that, but what else could it be?”

Dean shrugged, pleading desperation in his partially shielding eyes.

“What if he’s a demon, Sammy?” He asked.

Sam twisted his lips to the side. There’s no way his brother would lie, and especially not like this.

“Do you think he’s a demon?” He countered.

Dean was taken by surprise, and his eyebrows shot up.

“Well . . . No,” he admitted. “But what else could it be?”

He turned away and got up to find his bottle of whiskey.

That sentence rang through Sam’s mind for the rest of that day.

_But what else could it be?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a little research for this chapter, trying to pick a demon name off the top of my head wasn't as easy as I liked, because I wanted it to sound real. So I looked around, found one I liked, and also their standing.  
> Nybras – (Unk) an inferior demon who publicizes the pleasures of hell  
> During the encounter with Nybras, I alternated between using "Cas" and "Castiel". I had a reason for that.  
> As you all know, "Cas" is the angel that loves humanity, would die for the humans he loves and rebelled and all that.  
> Whereas "Castiel" is the angel that is the soldier he was programmed to be.  
> Hence why Dean just calls him "Cas", but in narrative, it's "Castiel" in the right place.  
> Leave kudos/comments/questions cos I'd love to know what you guys are thinking, if you like it, and where you'd like to see it go.


	10. There's Something About Cas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter was meant to be longer. When I was on the laptop to type it up, I got distracted typing up a college assignment. So expect some smut next week to make up for it

Dean had to muster up the courage to go and find Cas. Of course, during their short time together, it hadn’t crossed their mind to exchange phone numbers. They’d been preoccupied.

Now that Dean thought about it, he’d never even seen Cas with a phone in his hand. Maybe he didn’t have one? He really hadn’t seen Cas anywhere else except on his own lips and mind, in his bed, couch and on his floor. Technology wasn’t a pressing issue. Though he was damning himself for it because he needed to find him.

He’d have to go old-school on this one – drive around in his baby, eyes peeled for a brown trenchcoat. Not just any trenchcoat. He’d spot it from a mile away. The fabric of this one was draped over the pale and tender skin of the man Dean was in love with, had so hopelessly fallen for that he was crippled and could never stand again.

He didn’t even know how it happened.

One day, he was content to bang any chick that opened her legs even an inch, and toss them out the next morning like they didn’t matter, because they didn’t matter.

Cas . . . Cas had gotten under his skin, was in the air pulled into empty lungs, in the blue of the sky, in every waking thought.

He didn’t intend for anything to happen.

Taking him home was an honest drunk mistake. Yet it turned out to be the best mistake Dean had ever made in his life.

The chemistry was toxic and electrifying, it bled from every pore.

Sometimes, it felt tangible.

In the lazy mornings or sloppy kisses, it was like if he reached out far enough with his fingertips, maybe he could touch it.

The smile that was just _Cas._ The eyes that were so blue it was achingly beautiful. Fumbling, unsure fingers that still were determined to carry out their purpose, to write a story in love on his skin with the trace of a feather.

Cas was just addictive.

Dean needed to find him. Even if Cas was a demon. At least he would know. He couldn’t just leave him, not when Cas saved his life, and _healed_ him. If Cas was a demon, Dean was sure, for some reason, that he’d figure something out. He couldn’t give up whatever it was that he fell in love with, human or not.

There was always the possibility that he was being fucked with, used just for fun, but it didn’t feel that way, so the thought was left hanging and unentertained. He made up his mind. He needed to find Cas.

 

*******

 

He forced hesitant feet to his baby, and spent another five minutes just sitting in the driver’s seat, calming himself down.

He drove to the lake where he found him before, to the bar where they had their first chat (date?), and then it hit Dean that he had never asked Cas where he lived, and Cas had never actually mentioned a “home”.

Dean pushed open the creaky door, and tried to hold himself up on shaky legs. The sky, blue, and raining so lightly as if it were shedding tears just for him, reminded him of a certain pair of blue eyes. Which coaxed a single tear from pained green eyes. It’s like the earth in its entirety didn’t want him to forget. If he’d decided not to find Cas, he’d see him everywhere, in the blue of the sky, the lake, he’d hear the sweet and quiet laughter on the wind, maybe, if he was lucky (unlucky?) he’d feel the trace of his skin in the brush of soft fabric.

He wiped his eyes and looked around to see where in the actual fuck where he was. He was pulled over to the sidewalk, close to a park near his home. He didn’t remember driving there. He didn’t care.

Dean’s legs gave out beneath him when he saw a man with dark hair and a brown trenchcoat sitting on a bench, back facing Dean. Sharp stones dug into his knees, tears blurred his vision, and he couldn’t feel a thing. Everything was just overpowered by immense relief.

He tried to get up, slipped, and cursed, tried again. His legs could barely hold his weight

_Holy shit what if I’m wrong there’s no way that’s Cas I don’t get lucky I’m wrong I’m wrong I’m wrong_

The tears flowed more freely as he got closer. Somewhere in his mind, it registered that there was blood trickling down his legs.

His breath hitched.

_I can’t be right oh my God Cas I love you Cas I love you I’m sorry I love you_

He forced himself to walk around the side of the bench, and his legs couldn’t hold him up any longer when he saw those eyes that were so blue, so piercing, so . . . Cas.

“Cas,” he whispered.

Cas’ brow immediately furrowed and he rushed to pull Dean off of the ground, to have him sitting on the bench.

At least that was the plan. What ended up happening, was Dean crying unabashedly into Cas shoulder, while Cas held him so tightly it must’ve hurt, crying just as openly. He tilted Dean’s head up, brushing the tears from his face with his thumbs, apologising for leaving, for everything, and Dean couldn’t stand it – he pressed his lips to Cas’, like his life depended on it, like he would lose his mind if they were apart even for a second, like he was a euphoric drug. Because to Dean, he was.

Cas kissed Dean like Dean was the human incarnation of salvation and love, the only thing tethering him to earth, even if Dean made Cas feel like he wasn’t even on earth while they kissed.

Dean pulled away to breathe, and another sob escaped. He wiped his face with his hands.

“Cas, you gotta tell me,” he said quietly. “Are you a demon?”

Cas twisted his lips to the side. “No.” He looked down to the ground and stood, Dean joining him on his feet.

It was just beginning to rain lightly, so Dean looked back to his baby. He pushed his lips to Cas’, throwing every emotion he felt into that kiss. His fingers entwined into Cas’ hair, hips pressed together, tongues meeting, lips in total sync.

He let his left hand trail down Cas’ arm to hold his hand, breaking the kiss to pull him toward the Impala.

He pushed Cas against his baby, figuring he wouldn’t care that it was slightly wet, and tilted his head back to deepen another kiss. A small noise escaped Cas’ throat.

Dean broke away, licking his lips. He opened the passenger door of the car for Cas, then got in the driver’s seat.

“Cas,” Dean said. “Where do you live? You’ve never . . .” He trailed off, leaving it open.

Cas’ breath stopped momentarily, and as he was about to answer, Dean’s phone rang.

“Sammy,” Dean exclaimed. “It’s okay, I found him, and he’s okay.”

There was a few more “yeah”s and “okay”s tossed about, and Dean hung up. He looked to Cas again.

He felt extremely grateful, remembered how Cas came for him, silencing the asshole who tortured him, with a knife, saving his life before the man was able to break any of Dean’s bones.

Cas was feeling absolutely horrible for messing with Dean’s memory like that, recreating the cuts on Dean’s body. But it had to be done.

 

******

 

Dean pulled into his driveway, as the rain really started coming down. They both got out of the Impala, and Dean grabbed Cas by his hips, not able to keep his lips away for one more second.

Kissing in the rain.

He was more romantic than he liked to let on, Dean was.

Cas was the one who took initiative and reached behind Dean to open the front door, pushing them both into the house.


	11. Dean Winchester's Hands Are Always as Steady as a Fucking Stone (And There Goes His Half-Virginity)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've barely gotten the chance to write much but I really hope you all like where the story's going!

Sam, just coming out of the kitchen, about to say, “Thank God you’re both okay”, but deciding not to, in favour of amused silence.

“I’ll just go and see Jess,” he grinned, taking Dean’s keys from where he mindlessly tossed them onto the couch.

Dean dismissed him with a wave, lifting Cas past Sam, sitting him on the kitchen table, licking into each other’s mouths.

He vaguely registered hearing the front door close and an engine start, which was when he started grinding against Cas, sweet moans mingling between them.

Dean fumbled, he honest-to-God fumbled, with Cas’ shirt, pulling it off. Cas tried to pull off Dean’s, but it got stuck on his elbow, which made Cas sigh with exasperation and need, and made Dean laugh.

He stepped back so he could remove it without hitting anyone in the face. As soon as his shirt left his skin, Dean’s hand was between Cas legs, rubbing with a primal need, desperate to make Cas feel good.

Cas had gripped Dean’s ass, and when he moaned into Dean’s ear, that was nearly it, it nearly sent Dean over the edge. He pulled back, gasping.

“Upstairs,” he breathed. He took Cas by the hand, just about resisting the urge to throw Cas onto the floor and fuck him right there and then.

He led him upstairs, letting Cas use the bathroom to get himself ready. Dean busied himself finding the lube, a dry washcloth for afterward, and taking off his jeans.

When Cas came out, wearing just his boxers, Dean went into the bathroom, brushing his teeth and cleaning himself. If Cas wanted to top, or do anything, Dean would let him without any hesitation. He wanted to please Cas.

He stepped out of the bathroom, feelings oddly self-conscious with Cas’ eyes scanning his naked body. He threw a small, clean towel beside the bed.

Cas stood at the foot of the it. Awkwardly.

Dean took small steps toward Cas, and kissed him softly, guiding him back toward the bed. Cas lay down, with Dean straddling him.

Dean’s hand slid in between them, rubbing Cas through his underwear. He whimpered quietly into Dean’s ear, and his hand dropped from between them, just grinding out of pure need.

Cas trailed his right hand down Dean’s back and skimmed his fingers along the edge of Dean’s boxers. He pushed into Dean’s boxers, letting his hand brush over Dean’s ass.

His fingers pressed into Dean’s entrance unsurely, a question. Dean bit his lip, stopping himself from pushing back onto it, handing Cas the lube first.

Cas slicked up his finger, smiling shyly. Dean, eyes dark, pupils blown wide, bit his lip. He felt a finger press him again, and he leaned into it, gasping, mouth falling open, slipping past the first ring of muscle inside him.

Cas instantly looked into Dean’s eyes, worried. “Did I hurt you?”

Dean just shook his head, and leaned forward, then back, taking Cas’ finger to the first knuckle.

“Oh my God,” Dean panted when Cas dared to breach the second ring of Dean’s muscle. Though he would never admit it, Dean had tried fingering himself before when he was younger, and he’d liked it. And whatever way Cas was doing it, or maybe it was purely because it was Cas, it felt so much better than he remembered.

“Nobody has ever done this. To me,” he added. “No one but me. When I was younger.”

Memory surging to the surface. A fifteen-year-old Dean lying in bed, legs spread, one hand working his dick, while his other, dripping with lube, in his ass, rubbing at his prostate until he came so hard that he couldn’t move for ten minutes.

“I wanna . . . ” He squeaked, “I wanna ride you.”

Cas’ breath came faster at that, and increased in speed once more as Dean accidentally tore Cas’ underwear in an attempt to take them off.

Throwing the ripped boxers to the floor, he took Cas’ mouth in his own, wrapping his hand around Cas’ dick. Cas’ breath hitched. He took out his finger, eliciting a noise of protest from Dean.

“No, no, no, I’ll put it back,” he promised, slicking up his index and middle fingers as Dean panted a laugh.

He slowly pressed his two fingers inside Dean, remembering how it felt when it was done to him, and he tried scissoring his fingers. Dean responded, arching his back.

Dean moved Cas’ hand, standing up, discarding his boxers. He drizzled some lube into his hand, wrapping it around Cas once more, until he was dripping lube and pre-come.

“Inside me, Castiel,” he growled.

He positioned himself so he was straddling Cas. He was nervous. Hands trembling, breath hitching . . . He felt like a virgin. Well, half a virgin. And he was about to give his half-virginity to Cas.

He felt Cas’ cock pressing against his entrance, and his fingers trailing over the head of his own cock.

Dean was never one to take his Band-Aids off slowly. He always tore them off.

So instead of being slow and careful, as soon as he felt his outer ring of muscle being breached, he pushed back and took all of Cas in one go.

It stung, and it felt like he was being torn apart. He sat still for a few moments, Cas still stimulating his cock, before pressing back slightly, just feeling. He could almost touch the breath Cas was holding. Almost.

He nodded, panted, “Okay”, and Cas started rocking into him tentatively, the held breath quickly melting to laboured sobs and sighs.

God, whoever knew something could hurt yet be everything? It burned, and it was amazing.

He was a block of ice to Cas’ fire, not being obliterated, just softened and warmed, and vital. He was vital for Cas, it seemed, it was like repetition in the upward snap of his hips; _I need you Dean I need you Dean I need you Dean._

There was another two times Dean had to stop Cas, pressing a hand to his thigh while sucking a breath in through his teeth.

But when he relaxed enough, let Cas be gentle, Dean came. It wasn’t an orgasm that “hit with the force of a train” or anything like that, this one was sweet, and blissful. He collapsed against Cas, gasping through the aftershocks. The way it made Dean’s muscles tense around Cas caused him to finish, thrusts feeling slicker but so good. So good.

“Dean”, Cas said softly, when he could speak again.

They shifted, feeling less boneless after Cas slid out and they wrapped around each other. Dean took some incentive after a few minutes and leaned over, groaning, reaching for the towel, cleaning himself, all of the come from in between his legs and from his dick. He handed it to Cas, who did the same. They intertwined again, Cas’ head resting on Dean’s shoulder.

It was then, and there, in the silence that was pounding into Cas’ ears like a fucking rainstorm, that his resolve broke. How could he be in love – let himself be loved, even – and lie like this? Easy. He couldn’t.

“Dean.” One word, and Dean knew something was wrong. The voice that broke in a syllable and twisted something in Dean’s heart.

“I . . . I may have lied to you”, he whispered, terrified, heart breaking as he felt he was breaking the heart of the man sharing the bed.

Dean’s head tilted down to look at him, green eyes holding such a large amount of utter confusion.

“Cas? About what?” He asked cautiously.

Cas just sat up, and sighed so sadly, so goddamn sadly that it twisted something inside of Dean’s chest. He couldn’t speak. Not even as a tear spilled over his lashes. He lifted two fingers, pressed them to where Dean’s third eye would be.

The memories rushed back into Dean – _torture Nybras bones fucking breaking oh my God the pain demons demons demons where’s Cas please God where’s Cas salt and black eyes dead fucking bodies CAS IS GONE I NEED TO FIND CAS_

Dean sucked in a desperate breath, panicking, thanking the saints in heaven that he wasn’t standing because if he was, he knew that there was no way his legs could support the weight of this. Even then, lying there, he felt his hands tremble.

And Dean Winchester’s hands are always as steady as a fucking stone.

His now unsteady hands frantically rubbed over his skin, all of the cuts, all of the marks, and when they reached his leg – his leg. Unbroken.

What. The. Fuck. What the fuck was going on?

All of the fear he was feeling showed in green eyes that were pointed at Cas. He couldn’t speak, because he would just scream or shout and he didn’t know whether he needed Cas or he needed Sam or he needed himself and a bottle of whiskey or four.

Cas felt Dean go completely rigid as their eyes met.

“You’re not a demon”, he said, accusatory. He sounded so scared that Cas hated himself for it. But it was better than lying.

Right?

His eyes flashed suddenly, so blue it nearly hurt to look.

“No, Dean,” he agreed. “I’m an angel of the Lord.”


	12. The Righteous Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I hit a little writer's block, and I've been taking a bit of time out in order to write a domestic Destiel au. I think I'll end up updating this every second Thursday, depending on how it flows and whether I get writer's block again.  
> I'm pretty happy with how this chapter turned out, so please please please leave some feedback because otherwise, how would I know if you guys like it or not?  
> Also, you should check out the Destiel au once I have it up, it's based on a tumblr post.  
> Thanks guys! Enjoy!

Dean stared in shock. What is it that you’re supposed to say when your boyfriend just fucked you in the ass and tells you he’s an angel? And not like some kinky thing, like some weird angel/good boy/sweetheart fetish, but a genuine angel. Disbelief, naturally, seemed to be the first course of action.

Dean wanted to look at Cas like he’d gone crazy, but he’d experienced first-hand Cas’ ability to manipulate memory and heal. Not to mention he may have seen Cas smite a demon.

Not every day things like that happen. But, Jesus Christ (ironic, right?), what if that was an everyday thing for an angel?

Cas seemed to feel uncomfortable in the silence, and felt a need to prove himself further.

“Dean, break something, and hand it to me,” he insisted, while Dean stared.

“Dean?” It snapped Dean out of whatever reverie he was in. He twisted around, looking on the bed and nightstand, coming up with a Led Zepplin CD, which he snapped in half, with a small sob.

He handed it to Cas, and as soon as it touched his fingers; boom. The CD was whole.

So, an angel.

A freaking angel.

His body seemed to want to go ahead and kiss Cas, so he rolled with it, pressing his lips to the _angel’s_ so damn sweetly that he’d probably lose his teeth from it, then develop diabetes.

“So,” he said, after pulling away. “An angel. And what would . . . One of you, want with a train wreck like me?”

Cas looked offended. He actually looked offended at those words.

“You’re- Dean, listen to me. Properly. I’m only saying it once,” Cas stated. “You are the righteous man.”

Nothing more. He didn’t offer any other insights on the subject, no matter how completely dumbfounded Dean looked.

Cas’ face fell, though whether it was because he’d just realised what he said, or because Dean wasn’t saying anything, Dean wasn’t sure. He snapped out of his unmoving trance, and floundered for words, mouth opening and closing uselessly.

“Okay.”

Well, beat silence.

Cas seemed relieved. “It’ll make sense soon, Dean. I hope. At its most basic level, it means low-level demons won’t touch you for fear of smiting. Higher-level demons are fewer in numbers, and I can feel their presence – I’ll protect you. I promise.”

Dean felt himself pale. High-level demons. It didn’t offer Dean much comfort. But he nodded, and held onto Cas, his angel, like he was a fucking lifeline.

Cas cleared his throat. “High-level demons rarely do their own dirty work, Dean, and they focus on more widespread destruction than just that of one man, so I-” Dean cut off Cas with a kiss.

“It’s okay, dude. I can’t make heads or tails of this shit, and if you say you’ll protect me, I believe you”, Dean offered.

Cas sat up, then thought better of sitting, and stood up. “Salt,” he said. “And chalk or spray paint. And holy water. Most regular sigils can’t protect against more powerful demons, but as an angel, I know more sigils than humans.”

Dean accepted this with a nod, following Cas’ lead and getting out of bed. He led them down to the kitchen, handing the salt over, and finding a dusty box of chalk under the sink from Sam’s more artistic days. He blew it, then sneezed, which elicited a quiet laugh from Cas.

Dean glared at him, but without malice. He pushed himself onto his feet, and his lips just somehow found their way onto Cas’. He intended to place the box of chalk on the table, but he missed completely, and it hit the floor.

Dean couldn’t find it in himself to care. How could he, when the only thoughts were of the angel now on his lips, his hands tangled in dark hair, hips held in place with fingers determined to bruise? What was chalk compared to that?

Cas broke off with a giggle, and picked up the chalk, planting a kiss on Dean’s stomach when he could.

Dean smirked to himself, and ruffled Cas’ hair, despite protests.

“Where is the back door?” Cas asked, to which Dean was about to be a smart-ass. Until he felt a hand on said smart-ass. That definitely shut him up. Especially when Cas squeezed.

Dean faintly registered hearing his phone vibrating on the nightstand – it sounded like a group of woodpeckers were working away on the floor – but ignored it, deciding if it was important they’d just try again, and _then_ he’d run up and get it.

He pointed out the backdoor to Cas, smiling so much it nearly hurt.

He couldn’t resist leaning forward, pushing his mouth to hold Cas’. He knew he groaned, but didn’t stop it, and wasn’t entirely sure he could have if he tried. His lips and tongue were bitten and sucked – which he reciprocated wholeheartedly – while their hands wandered around each other, grasping like a lifeline. He picked up on Cas’ erratic breathing, and he’d be damned if he was going to regulate it. So he did what any good person would do. He pressed Cas tight to him, holding his ass, nipping at his lips, licking into his mouth, sliding one hand up Cas’ back to squeeze the back of his neck.

“Dean,” Cas whimpered, helplessly gesturing toward the chalk. Dean laughed with his whole body, wishing he could capture that look on Cas’ face, the look in his eyes, to keep it forever.

Cas’ lips were red and swollen from kissing, his hair dishevelled, blue eyes crazy with lust and love, jaw lightly scratched with stubble, and his breathing was laboured. And it was one of the most beautiful things Dean had ever seen in his life.

Truth be told, he was taken aback in that moment. In awe, in the true sense of the word. He would’ve backed up against a wall and thrown a hand up above his head for dramatic effect any other day, with any other person, downplaying the effect they had slightly, but he couldn’t downplay anything he felt about Cas. Why would he want to? He wanted every single person alive to know exactly how special Cas was. Not even the angel stuff, it was just who he was. Even smiling felt different with Cas, more fulfilling.

He pressed his lips to Cas’ temple, closing his eyes briefly, inhaling the scent of Cas. Cas shook the box of chalk, smiling sideways, indicating with his head that he _would like to take care of the sigils now thank you Dean._

Dean gave Cas a thumbs-up, bounding back up the stairs to his bedroom to get his phone.

One missed call. They left a voicemail.

Bobby Singer.

“ _Answer yer damn phone, idjit. I’m two towns over, with Rufus, we’re hunting together. Thought I’d ask if you’d want to me to come check up on ya, it’s been a few months at least, boy. You have a few days to make up your mind before I’m back in Sioux Falls, and it’s not often I’m in Lawrence. Also, if you do decide you want me there, you want Rufus too, if he can? Get Sam to tag along too, I miss that kid. And his girl, if she wants. Once again, learn to answer yer phone, idjit._ ”

Dean couldn’t help but grin as he listened. It would probably sound like abuse to any other person, but Dean and Sam were practically raised by Bobby, due to their father’s frequent alcoholic binges, and they knew to translate his gruff manner for love.

He found it a little strange that Bobby and Rufus travelled such distances just to hunt, but apparently Bobby liked the challenge of new terrain, and trying to outsmart the same animals in different states seemed to give him a kick. And if that’s what made him happy, then Dean was all up for supporting him.

Then his mind got to the point of playing out how Bobby would react to Dean’s boyfriend.

Knowing Bobby, he’d probably either say something along the lines of “I knew you weren’t straight, idjit”, or just look at him a little awkwardly. He’d accept Dean regardless, and Dean knew that. That didn’t make him feel any less awkward.

He dialled Sam’s number as he hopped down the stairs, smile still on his face.

“Sammy!”

“Hey, Dean, what’s up? Cas get stuck in you? Cos if he did, man, I love you, but that’s something you have to deal with yourself.”

Dean laughed. Damn, he was in a good mood. “Bobby called. He’s two towns over, hunting with Rufus, and said he’d drop by if we wanted.”

He could practically hear Sam nodding. “Sure, tell him to come by in what, two days?”

“Cool, Sammy. See ya. And yeah he’s bringing Rufus.” With that, he hung up. They never wasted their time with goodbyes.

Cas had done what he needed with the chalk, and Dean only spared the symbols a fleeting frown before they were out of his mind. He thoughtlessly slapped Cas’ sweet ass as he passed him, smirking to himself as he made his way into the kitchen.

He set the coffee maker, and after a bit of rummaging in cupboards, appeared triumphant with two clean cups. He watched Cas with curiosity in his eyes, looking out from hooded lids. He didn’t deserve an angel. An angel deserved better than him.

 

******

The next two days were filled with beer, pizza, pasta, sandwiches, bad movies, and lots of sex. They had sex everywhere.

On the kitchen table. On the coffee table. On the stairs. On the floor in the bedrooms, hallway, bathroom and living room. They had heated makeout sessions and sloppy handjobs on the couch. Wet blowjobs in the shower. They grinded each other, against a wall, one of Dean’s hands braced on the doorframe, the morning after he’d spoken to Bobby. Kissed and bitten each other’s lips until they tasted blood. Let their hands trail until they drifted to sleep. Breathed in the essence of the other until they felt intoxicated, drunk. Addicted.

There would be no conceivable way to hide this from anybody.

Dean’s fear got the better of him, and the thought of telling Bobby created knots in his stomach. Was he meant to tell Bobby that this guy wasn’t just his boyfriend, but an angel? So many questions.

The day that brought Bobby along with it came too quickly for Dean’s liking. He also discovered he can’t distract himself for shit.

He tried watching TV, but he couldn’t sit still, or focus. He had the same issue with reading the newspaper. Cleaning worked, but after a half hour, he didn’t know where else he could clean without resorting to washing floors or walls. After that, he was just fidgeting again, checking the clock every five minutes without fail, leg bouncing up and down restlessly.

“Fuck it,” he muttered. “I’m going out for a run, Cas,” he yelled, pulling on sweatpants and trainers. He had an hour and a half to waste, and staying in the house clearly wasn’t going to work.

He grabbed his headphones and iPod from the coffee table, and blasted Led Zeppelin, ACDC, and Kansas for the duration of his run.

Dean alternated between jogging, walking, and running for an hour, deciding to go home and shower once he barely trusted that his legs would be able to keep him standing. He indulged in some fatigued making out with Cas once he showered and dressed himself.

With a half hour to spare, he was okay spending it with an equally lazy body splayed across his own. Castiel even made sure to sate Dean’s expected erection with his rosy, warm mouth.

They couldn’t have timed it better. The exact moment Cas wiped his pretty pink lips, and Dean’s zipper was secure, there was a knock at the door.

Sam. Who preceded Bobby (without Rufus) by exactly four minutes.

The Winchesters expected Bobby to be on time.

What they didn’t expect, was for Bobby to have a massive gash in his cheek held together with stitches, a black eye, and a busted lip.

After the greetings were out of the way, Dean went and got coffee for Sam and Bobby. He kept glancing at the wounds, before Bobby rolled his eyes.

“What?” He snapped. “Can I help you princess?”

Dean smiled slightly. “What happened to your face?”

Bobby couldn’t help but shift uncomfortably. “Bear clawed at me.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed and he was the first to say it, “Bobby, we’re no idiots. A bear didn’t do that.”

Bobby’s eyes kept flicking to Cas, who was squinting and tilting his head at him. As usual. “Yeah, well,” Bobby said, trailing off.

“You were hunting,” Dean said.

“Yep.”

“A bear did that to your face.”

“Darn straight.”

“Bobby, we grew up around you. You’re a terrible liar to us,” Dean stated. “So, what happened?”

Bobby sighed, and that seemed to signal his drop of the act.

“Who’re you?”

Cas bit his lip, awkward. “I am Castiel.”

Bobby looked directly at Cas, eyes widening.

“’Castiel’. That means . . . ‘To fall from God’, right?” He asked.

Cas’ eyes widened as he nodded.

“Son of a bitch,” Bobby whispered. “Are . . . Are you an angel? Angels are real?”

Cas glanced at Sam, then Dean, then back to Bobby, not knowing what to do.

“It’s okay, kid,” Bobby added to Cas. “I’m a hunter.”

And Cas knew, he wasn’t an animal hunter.

A bear didn’t do that to his face.

Bobby Singer, and Rufus Turner were hunters.


	13. Castiel; The Walking Encyclopaedia of Wendigos

 

 

 

 

They all awkwardly shifted and refused to meet each other’s glances. Dean, of course, was the one to break that. He stood directly in front of Bobby, a question in his green eyes, even in his stance.

“What? You know I hunt, boy,” Bobby remarked.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean agreed. “But . . . What do you hunt?”

Bobby rested all of his weight on one foot, and looked to Cas, who took a seat on the couch.

“You knew he was an angel, Dean?” Bobby asked, uncertain.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Only for a few days.”

Sam decided it was his turn to speak up. “Bobby? What do you hunt?”

Bobby felt cornered by the boys, and seeing as he practically raised them, he knew they were set on getting his answer. They were not just going to drop it.

“Okay,” Bobby relented. Sam and Dean didn’t move.

“Okay!” He repeated, and only then did Sam and Dean back off to sit on the couch next to Cas and wait for an explanation. They stared expectantly at him.

Bobby sighed heavily, sitting in the smaller chair opposite the boys. He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Spirits. Vampires. Demons. Wendigos. Shapeshifters-”

“What?” Dean interrupted. “Wen- what?”

“Wendigos,” Cas said. “All cultures in which contain the wendigo myth share the belief that human beings could turn into wendigos if they ever resorted to cannibalism, or, become possessed by the demonic spirit of a wendigo - in a dream, usually. Once they transform, a human becomes violent and obsessed with eating human flesh. The most frequent cause of transformation into a wendigo was if a human had resorted to cannibalism, in order to keep from starving to death during a time of extreme hardship, for example in hard winters, or famine,” Cas shrugged. “They hibernate for years at a time. They’re generally over 15 feet tall, have long, yellow fangs, an elongated tongue, glowing eyes, sallow, yellowish skin. Some actually have some hair – matted. Extremely fast, lanky creatures, with heightened senses, usually inhabiting the forests Great Lakes and Canada, abandoned mine shafts, caves. They keep their victims - the, uh, humans - alive for a least five days to feast on them. Some say they grow hungrier the more they eat, as well as in size, so they then require more food each time, that they can travel through time and space in order to catch prey. They can only be killed with fire, because they’re so fast it would be nearly impossible to kill them any other way-”

“Right,” Dean interjected. “Thanks, Wikipedia.”

Cas looked briefly offended and confused.

Bobby, aghast at Cas’ knowledge, continued, “Changelings, djinns, ghouls, rugarus . . .”

Dean chuckled, “Of course. Next you’re gonna tell me freakin’ _werewolves_ are real, too.”

Bobby’s answer, was a half-smile, raised eyebrow, and a vague gesture toward his face.

“Great,” Dean threw his hands up. “You’re insane. You’re actually insane! Taken one hit too hard and too many to the head, and you’ve officially lost it, old man.”

He stood up, taking his rant to the kitchen by himself, while Bobby, Sam and Cas watched him go.

“So . . . A-a werewolf . . . Did that to your face?” Sam asked. Bobby just nodded into his coffee.

“Ghosts, vampires, shapeshifters – they’re all real?”

Cas confirmed his question. Dean joined them again after a few minutes, sitting too close to Cas.

Bobby raised his eyebrows at them, but said nothing. Well, until he and Sam went to get more coffee and came back to see them kissing on the couch, Cas fingers coursing through Dean’s hair, both letting out small sounds of contentment.

“Christ,” he whispered, stumbling back and hitting the kitchen door, while Dean and Cas sprung apart. “Uh, as you were,” he mumbled, leaving them to it.

Dean sighed, resting his head in his hands. That exchange, teamed with the fact that Bobby had been lying to them their entire lives, left Dean feeling pretty agitated. He pulled away from Cas, sitting on the edge of the couch.

He didn’t believe he could trust Bobby, after something of this magnitude. A hunter. Of ghosts, vampires, werewolves, and countless other things he couldn’t pronounce. He stood up, stretching out imagined kinks in his back, kissing Cas’ temple and inhaling his scent, whispering, “I need to talk to Sammy.”

He pressed another kiss to Cas’ soft lips, smiling tightly.

More disgruntled than he’d have liked to admit, he found Sam talking to Bobby in the kitchen.

“Can I’ve a minute with Sammy?” He questioned, refusing to look at Bobby. The older man shrugged, pushing his chair away from the table, raising an eyebrow briefly at Sam.

Dean sat across from him, after pulling a beer out of the fridge and taking a long pull.

“Dean, I know-” Sam began.

“Man lied to us our entire lives, Sam.”

Sam pursed his lips. “What did you expect him to do? I talked to him about it, and from what he’s told me? A hunter’s life ain’t a good one. I mean, once you’re in the life, that’s just it, man. No way out besides death, and hunter’s deaths are usually messy, violent and bloody.” He raised his hands, placating. “I don’t blame him for not telling us, Dean, he didn’t want that life for us.”

Dean looked at his little brother, gaze unwavering.

He missed the kid Sammy used to be.

The little kid that needed Dean’s help reaching things on the top shelf. Asked Dean how to pronounce a word that he came across in one of his books, or what a new word meant. The chubby little boy that waddled out wearing one of Dean’s t-shirts that were so big on him that he kept tripping over the hem, saying he was dressed as his favourite superhero. The child that used to cuddle Dean during the night because there, in his big brother’s arms, he felt safe and wouldn’t have nightmares. The kid that asked Dean to steal him a cookie when their dad was in the other room.

The man sitting in front of Dean, who understood why their surrogate father did something in their best interests, who protected Dean as much as he’d needed Dean to protect him in the past, left Dean feeling like the younger sibling.

“Still, he could’ve told us rather than lie,” Dean tried. “Not take us with him, or any of that crap, but just tell us he was hunting these freakin’ monsters. Fucking ghosts, Sam. Ghosts and monsters.” He rubbed his jaw. “How can I trust him, Sammy?”

Sam raised his eyebrows, facing away from Dean, wiping his mouth. “He practically raised us. And yeah, he took his time, but he _did_ tell us about all of it. I trust him, and if you need time to, then there is absolutely nothing wrong with that, Dean. So just . . . Don’t worry about it, and don’t force it.”

Dean regarded his brother with a feeling that bordered on nostalgia. How did Sam get so smart?

He felt a single tear slip from his left eye as he stood, pulling Sam up for a hug. He clapped his hand on Sam’s back, as man-hugs seem to dictate as normal.

“Thanks for understanding.”

Sam just smiled in response. Dean went back into the living room to see Bobby talking to Cas about demons. Dean frowned slightly.

He took his position next to Cas on the couch, but not as close as previously. Bobby shifted uncertainly, trailing off his anecdote about the time a demon fell off the pier and couldn’t help screaming because of the salt until it voided its vessel.

Dean braced his hands on his thigh, and pursed his lips. “I can’t trust you,” he said simply.

“I know, kid. Believe me, if I had it my way, you two would never have known,” Bobby replied, wiping his face with his hand. “’Cos once you know about it, that’s it. You can’t forget. You can’t get out of the life. I’m telling you this for your own good – don’t get involved, I-”

Dean bit his lip. “I know about demons, Bobby,” he blurted.

Bobby’s eyes squinted with disbelief. “How the fuck do you know about _demons_?”

Cas glanced up, but refused to look directly at anyone.

Dean stood, pushing back the curtains to reveal salt, and kicking aside the mats to show the devil’s traps Cas had spraypainted.

Bobby blanched.

“I was kidnapped, and tortured. By a demon.”

Bobby blessed himself, making the sign of the cross as soon as Cas whispered, “Nybras.”

Cas finally faced Bobby, continuing, “The demon who publicises the pleasures of Hell, or in some other lore, he’s a warrior demon who has the command of sixty legions.”

“He might come after me again. So I have to be ready. If that means getting involved in this shit life, then too bad.” Dean squared his shoulders, meaning every word.

“You’re already involved,” Bobby said, sombre.

Sam sighed, which directed everyone’s attention to where he was standing, leaning on the doorjamb.

“You’re not getting into all this crap on your own, Dean. I’m with you,” Sam nodded.

“No!” Dean and Bobby exclaimed.

Sam looked wounded, like a kicked puppy. “Why not?” He practically pouted.

“It’s dangerous!” Bobby and Dean said in unison.

Cas nodded sheepishly, “it’s dangerous, Sam. You’re not directly involved so you should stay away while you still have a chance.”

Sam was adamant, shaking his head. “If my brother’s in danger, then I’m getting involved. You can’t stop me.”

Dean, and probably Bobby, knew damn well how stubborn Sam could be when he wanted something. Dean ran his tongue over his teeth, sighed, and shook his head.

“I’m not letting you get hurt, Sam.”

“You were fucking _tortured_ , Dean!” Sam yelled in response.

Dean blinked. He wasn’t wrong. But Dean would go through the torture again, even ten times more pain, in order to spare Sam any suffering.

“No,” Dean said simply.

Sam demonstrated a level 15 bitchface. God, if looks could kill. He grabbed Cas by the arm, as well as a notepad and pen. “I’m gonna do some research with Cas about demons. To save your ass,” he spat, leading Cas into the kitchen

Dean rolled his eyes, rubbing his forehead. He glanced at Bobby.

“So, what do you know about demons?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm thinking maybe two more chapters until it's done. I know my continuation probably sucked and I don't know how you guys even followed it, or why, but thank you, and I'm glad you seem to like it


	14. That Scottish Bastard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, I've been dealing with a lot. But here it is! Hopefully I'll be able to wrap it up with one more chapter, if it works out! Enjoy c:

Cas was awkward as he pulled Bobby to the side, while he cleared his throat. He had neglected to tell Dean that he had indeed smote Nybras. When he had restored Dean’s memory, and the cuts . . . He first tried to hide the truth from Dean.

But then realised he’d need an alibi. So yes, he recreated those cuts and implanted the memory that a regular, fucked-up human tortured Dean with a knife.

But he couldn’t keep lying.

He wasn’t worried about Nybras coming back, which he may have accidentally implied.

He was worried about Nybras’ superiors picking up where he’d left off.

So he caved, restoring Dean’s memories and being honest about the fact that he was an angel.

He seemed distressed while telling Bobby this. The man had been around long enough to see how much this had been weighing on Castiel.

Cas decided it was on him to tell Dean. Tell him that he might actually need to worry about the demon’s superiors instead. But Nybras was indeed dead. A cold comfort. If by “cold” he meant “terrifying”, and by “comfort”, he meant “source of infinite fear”.

“Dean,” he spoke up. Not leaving any room for questions, he continued, “Nybras is dead. I smited him when I rescued you.” Dean’s eyebrows shot up, and just as he opened his (perfect) mouth, Cas added, “But his superiors may attempt to neutralise you and those you are involved with.” Castiel looked around the room, surveying the occupants with slightly twisted lips.

“It’s safe to assume everybody in this room is a possible target.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably. Cas was right.

“If you give me a few hours,” Cas offered, “I could find out who is behind all of this.”

Bobby and Sam exchanged nervous glances. With that, Cas exited the room, nothing but a flapping of wings and a whoosh of air as a testament to it.

The silence was awkward. And Bobby was going to be damned if he was going to let it drag out.

“Didn’t know you were into men, son.”

Sam facepalmed.

Good, Bobby, he thought to himself. Break an awkward silence with something awkward. Idjit.

Dean stared. “W-well, h-he, um,” he stammered, swallowing. “He’s not a man.” He raised his eyes to look at Sam, who was trying not to laugh.

“Does he have a-”

“Yes, he has a dick, Sam!” Dean rolled his eyes.

“From what I remember of that night you met him and brought him home – you’re so easy, by the way – you liked him and his dick way before you knew he was an angel,” Sam grinned.

Somewhere off to the side, Bobby was snickering.

The blush that was spreading across Dean’s cheeks made his freckles stand out.

Sam, at seeing Dean’s red cheeks, was laughing, clutching his side. Though he could barely breathe, he managed one more jibe.

“Did you act so heterosexual for the first half of your life that now you need something phallic in your mouth to even things out?”

Bobby lost it, absolutely cracking up at the prospect of Dean “evening things out with something phallic.”

Dean glared at Sam, causing him and Bobby to laugh harder. Just as Dean turned away from their jibes, Castiel flapped in, striding toward the front door. Which, of course, chose that exact moment to slam open against the wall.

A man, probably tall but short in comparison to Castiel and the Winchesters, stood in the doorway. He flicked imaginary dust off of his dark-suited shoulder, smirking.

 

" _Really_ , Castiel," he said, Scottish accent thick and dripping with sarcasm. "Did you think I wouldn't find you?"

Cas stopped in his tracks. "Crowley," he growled.

To which Crowley raised an eyebrow, his smirk more pronounced. "Hello darling."

Dean took a step back, the movement catching Crowley's eye.

"Boys!" He said, loud and welcoming. "Sam and Dean . . . _Winchester_." He enunciated each word with care.

Dean's lips parted in surprise, and he heard Sam's breathing speed up.

A whispered "son of a bitch" was the reaction they received from Bobby.

"Mr Singer!" Crowley said happily. "Fancy seeing you here." Upon seeing the disdain on Bobby's face, he rolled his eyes. "Relax, sweetheart," he added. "I'm not here for _you_."

His eyes trailed to Sam and Dean.

"How?" Castiel said, aggression finding its place in his usually calm voice.

"Your buddy - Samandriel, is it?" He paused. "He's a screamer."

Castiel charged, and all of a sudden, Crowley was behind the Winchesters, inspecting his nails.

"Really, Cassie," he rolled his eyes - the colour of amber autumn leaves and whiskey. "You knew this was coming. Boys," he turned and directed his attention to them. "What do you say about working for me? You could be my new besties."

"You sent Nybras after Dean," Bobby accused, unabashed, though shaken to a slight degree.

"You're damn right, cupcake," Crowley agreed with a smile that was close to being a sneer.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii-"

Crowley waved dismissively, unaffected. " _Yeah_ , _yeah_ , _yeah_ , heard it all before. It was all just a _big_ misunderstanding, really.”

"Like Hell it was!" Dean shouted, earning a chuckle from Crowley. "Breaking my knee and torturing me? Pretty fucking hard to misinterpret." He'd started leaning forward, pointing an accusatory finger, causing Sam to hold him back with a hand on his chest.

"Let him go, Moose," Crowley said, expectancy clear in his voice. Sam looked offended and confused.

They all stared.

"Fine, I'll explain," he sighed, raising his eyes to Bobby.

"Get me some whiskey."

***

"I instructed Nybras to capture Dean and _ask him to work for me_. I said nothing about _torture_ \- _nobody_ said _anything_ about _torture_ ," Crowley stated. "But when you appoint the publicist of the pleasures of Hell - a chief pleasure being, obviously, sadism - what do you expect?"

He swallowed a mouthful of whiskey, savouring the rich flavour. His eyes surveyed the men before him on the couch and two armchairs – Dean and Cas on the couch, Bobby and Sam in separate armchairs.

"Dude, who _are_ you?" Sam asked, conveying the disbelief they were all feeling.

"Crowley. King of Hell. Pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Moose."

Castiel was seething. Dean could feel it radiating out of him. He touched Cas' knee, and the angel jumped, his fury faltering as soon as he set blue eyes on green.

Crowley motioned between the two of them. “Is that even allowed?” He addressed Cas. “I mean I know he can’t bear or father any Nephilim, but surely your kind do not condone this. It’s practically bestiality.”

Castiel glared, and Dean was sure he was also splaying out his wings as a sign of aggression. He whispered something that only Cas could hear, which seemed to calm him down.

"There's no way I'm working for you," Dean said to Crowley.

Crowley, swallowing his whiskey, didn't seem deterred. "You will, squirrel. In time."

"Why do we matter?" Sam asked, and Bobby seconded.

"You're the Winchesters. All sorts of talk about you upstairs, and downstairs, boys."

"Samandriel," Cas quietly inquired. Crowley pointed to him with his index finger. "Bingo."

He winked at Bobby. "You might be surprised at where a little torture can get you. Or a lot. May have been a lot. Kind of lost track."

His phone beeped, so he withdrew it. "Business calls. Toodles, boys."

That was it. He was gone.

Bobby and Cas shared a look filled with something that wasn't fear, and took Dean a moment to place. It was a look to say they had both tangled with Crowley before, knew what he was like, and had both resigned to the fact that he was going to meddle in this.

Dean just sighed "great" and flopped gracelessly to lie down on the soft couch. Cas sat near his feet.

"He has power over more demons - _worse demons_ \- than Nybras," Cas stated. "It may be wise to keep him in our corner."

"He's right," Bobby admitted, sounding apologetic to speak up. Especially in favour of Crowley playing a role in their lives.

"Yeah, fine, whatever," Dean gave up. Sam just said "okay."

"I'm remaining super neutral on this one," Dean mumbled.

Team Free Whatever.

Meeting people.

Doing things.

The usual business.

 

***

 

They sent Castiel to tell Crowley of their decision. What Crowley had to say back was not expected.

"Keep the Winchesters sharp. Storm's coming, I hear. Having them will entertain me, at the very least."

"You're sure that's what he said, Cas?" Dean asked. The angel nodded.

"I can only believe he assumed that you two were hunters," he added.

Bobby adjusted his ever-present cap. "Time to sharpen you boys up then."

 

Castiel was sparring with Sam in Dean's backyard. They used knives, wooden stakes, and with no weapons. Sam caught on to the moves and blocks quickly enough, with Cas holding himself back to a point where he seemed bored. Otherwise, Cas was too quick and could knock Sam down with a lazy flick of his wrist. Damn angels.

Bobby made it his responsibility to teach Dean about guns. Dean was a natural, stripping and reassembling them in less than two minutes in his third attempt. Bobby then showed him how to make salt rounds for his sawed-off.

He also stressed the importance of silver bullets, and promised he'd show Dean how to make them back in Sioux Falls.

Then they swapped.

Once Bobby decided Sam's knowledge of the basic necessary guns was satisfactory (a mere two hours later), he slipped out for a few minutes. He returned with newspapers under his arms. He slapped one down in front of Dean, panting and sweating from sparring with Cas, and another in front of Sam.

"Find me something strange. Something you think could be a case," Bobby instructed.

A minute and a half in, Dean spoke up. "This is definitely strange," he promised, holding up the newspaper for them to see.

Bobby rolled his eyes. "A cross-dressing lawyer ain't nothing supernatural, idjit."

"Yeah it is," Dean insisted. "We're literally looking at Sam's future."

Sam snorted and shoved Dean, grinning. "Jerk."

"Bitch."

Another few moments of silence, and Sam spoke up. "Got one."

They all looked to him, exuding expectancy.

"A man killed two nights ago in his new home. Police found that every door and window was locked from the inside. His eight-year old daughter swore she saw the assailant disappear," he pursed his lips. "Sounds like a ghost."

Bobby yawned. "Probably is. Here's the fun part; research. Find out everything about the vic, the building, what the ghost looks like according to the kid, checking old records and newspapers for possible identities of the ghost. Then you have to find its remains, dig them up, and salt and burn 'em."

Cas watched in silence as Sam and Dean both wrinkled their noses in disgust.

"Part of the job, boys," Bobby chuckled.

Dean's expression was definitely a sorry sight, as if he was regretting the decision to hunt before they'd even started.

"Buck up, princess," Bobby smirked.

Dean looked indignant when he noticed Cas and Sam were both watching him with these big stupid grins on their faces.

One that he would love to kiss and lick right off Castiel's stupid, beautiful face, he thought. Dean barely restrained himself, smirking as his tongue swept over the swell of his bottom lip.

Just as his green eyes lifted, the sound of flapping wings filled the room. A feather where Cas had been sitting was the only evidence that he'd been there.

Dean had taken to collecting these feathers and keeping them in a jar.

Castiel whooshed back moments later with three six-packs of beer, and a large apple pie. Dean would’ve jumped him and had sex with him right then and there if Sam and Bobby were out of the house. But really, when did Dean ever have such luck?


	15. Another Feather and That's How I Know

There were only two times where Dean felt like Lady Luck was practically sucking his dick. The first wasn’t exactly “recent”. Maybe three years previously, when Dean was having his morning run, passing through the park, his breath puffing in clouds of white, he’d leaned over, hands on his thighs, to catch his breath. And to watch the sunrise, not that he’d ever admit that. He was really just a softie. Who liked to run at a time that he could watch the sunrise as he rested in the park.

Anyway, he’d leaned over, and right there, right under his foot – two $100 bills, folded together. Dean had picked them up, and immediately looked around for a possible owner. But the park was deserted this early, one of the main reasons he chose that place to rest every morning. That sort of thing never happened to Dean. He was bright and happy for the rest of the day. He took Sam and Jess out to dinner, bought himself a couple more plaid shirts, and set the rest aside to spend on fuel for his baby.

That was one time Lady Luck was on her knees.

The other time was when he’d walked into Castiel, leaving that gym. The one day he’d stayed an extra half hour changed his life. If he’d kept to his regular schedule, he would’ve never met Castiel. On that occasion, Lady Luck wasn’t so much sucking his dick as much as gagging and begging for it. And Dean gave as good as he was getting. He’d hung onto Castiel, at first afraid to let himself love him, because in this situation his first instinct was to turn tail and run. Castiel was different. So Dean didn’t push him away even though part of him was fucking terrified.

The last, and possibly the only person he had loved before was Cassie. He was stupid enough to listen to that part of him, and Dean ran, never told her, just ran before she knew and would have the chance to hurt him. Sam knew, of course, because Sam knew Dean like he knew books. And Sam _knew_ books, the damn nerd. He’d called Dean on it before and all it resulted in was an argument, a right hook to Sam’s jaw, and a vicious hangover the following morning.

They all shared the pie and drank the beer that Cas had showed up with. After an hour or so had passed, Cas quietened considerably. He looked like he was contemplating something serious. Dean, half-smiling from a joke Sam had told (“What do you say to a constipated detective? . . . No shit, Sherlock! Get it? Dean, explain it to Castiel”), nudged Castiel with an elbow. His slightly raised eyebrows asked the question his mouth would’ve just repeated.

_Are you okay?_

Cas just smiled blandly, shook his head. He then directed those painfully sky blue eyes to the floor, face suddenly blank. “I can’t let you submit to Crowley like this, Dean. I can . . . talk to him.”

Bobby snorted. “There’s no talking to Crowley unless you have something to offer the son of a bitch. And he ain’t gettin’ any of our souls.”

Castiel stood, nostrils flaring. “You know we can’t work with him.”

Bobby just glared. “I’m open to suggestion, boy.”

The angel stood, a long silver blade sliding from his sleeve. Dean found the sight incredibly hot and simultaneously threatening.

Castiel departed more violently than necessary, the regular flapping of wings accompanied by a gust of wind so strong that slammed the kitchen door shut loudly.

“Balls!” Bobby snapped.

Sam swallowed, sounding unsure. “Bobby, he’s not going to try and kill Crowley, is he?”

“That’s _exactly_ what he’s planning on, idjit.”

Dean rubbed his hand over his mouth, a knot of tension making its way into his stomach. What if Cas got himself killed?

“We have to find Crowley before Cas tries anything and gets himself hurt,” Dean blurted. Bobby just sighed.

Cas couldn’t do this to him. Not when Dean finally accepted how much he truly loved Castiel, and he didn’t even run from it. Losing him like this after letting himself love would just be a kick in the balls from Life itself. Wearing steel-toed boots.

Bobby swore as he stood, grabbing his car keys. Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam, who just returned the look, albeit with a more puppy-like quality.

Bobby slapped both of the boys’ knees, urging them to get up. “Get into the Impala, and follow me to Sioux Falls, idjit. I know a spell I can use to locate a demon if I have their name, and the ingredients are back at the house.”

Neither of them moved. “ _Today_!” He added, exasperated, as Sam and Dean scrambled to their feet and out the door, Dean snatching his car keys from the coffee table.

The drive, at least for Dean, was tense. His leg seemed to bounce with a life force of its own, his fingers wouldn’t stop drumming on the steering wheel, and he couldn’t seem to breathe right. Even Led Zeppelin’s Kashmir couldn’t distract him from the gnawing feeling that dug its teeth and claws into the pit of his stomach. Any attempt Sam made to initiate conversation was met with blunt, clipped answers.

And when Sam said, “Bobby texted. Said he’s got some other hunters on the job we saw in the papers. We kinda have our hands full”, Dean didn’t even answer at all.

Sam, on the other hand, wasn’t as edgy, though he could feel the tension bleeding from his older brother. He kept running his hand through his hair unconsciously, mussing it up in a way that anyone who saw him would find incredibly attractive. Bless him, he still tried to pick the mood up – playing Dean’s favourite tape, not complaining about the music, trying with slight desperation to talk about anything that wasn’t Castiel. The task seemed simple but was anything but. Dean was just too distracted, too anxious. Sam chewed the inside of his lip, grasping at any possible hammer to break the tension.

He asked if Dean wanted to stop for food. “No. Not hungry.”

He asked if Dean needed to put fuel in the impala. “No. She’s fine.”

He asked if Dean wanted coffee or something else to drink. “We’re not stopping, Sam.”

After he suggested pulling into a motel to take a break, Dean just shot him a glare.

The tension was there to stay.

So Sam clasped his hands together, between his knees, giving up. He realised how anxious Dean was when he saw Dean’s knuckles were white because of how strongly he was gripping the wheel. White knuckles teamed with incredibly focused eyes and a determined stare, the bouncing leg, shallow breaths – Dean was beyond restless.

Dean pulled sharply into Bobby’s auto shop yard in Sioux Falls, causing Sam to jerk to the side. He slammed on the brakes. Now this was the exact moment that Sam regretted not wearing his seat belt, because he thumped his head off of the windshield.

“Ow!” Sam rubbed his head, and had just readjusted himself in the seat when he heard the driver’s door slam closed. “Christ,” he muttered under his breath.

Dean was already pushing past Bobby’s front door by the time Sam got to his feet. Sam watched him go, shaking his head with a sigh.

Bobby raised his eyebrows at Sam, lips pressed to a thin line, as if to say _well, what’re you gonna do about it?_

He shrugged, moving Sam forward with a hand on his back, closing the door after them. “Get out the hunter’s helper, eh boy?” Sam nodded, hair falling into his eyes.

Sam emerged from the kitchen with three lowball glasses in one massive hand, and a bottle of whiskey dangling from his fingers. He set these in front of Dean.

Dean nodded, tongue dragging slowly along his lower lip. He poured two fingers of whiskey in each glass. Sam took his. Bobby was rooting around for the book that had the spell he needed.

“Gotcha, ya bastard,” Bobby muttered, pulling the dusty book from an old, cluttered bookshelf. He blew off the dust in a cloud, coughing and blinking rapidly.

Sam looked apprehensive, to say the least.

 _Angels_ , first, _angels_ were real, then _demons_ , and a whole plethora of mythological creatures and now here they were doing spells. Sam had seen too much to just assume Castiel, Crowley and Bobby had just lost their minds.

He looked up at Bobby to see the man wince as he wiped some off the dust off of the scratches on his cheek.

_Yeah, no, not insane. Maybe._

Bobby set the heavy leather-bound hardback down on the table, flipping to the apt page. He pointed Sam and Dean off to the appropriate places in the room to find the ingredients necessary, as he draw sigils onto the table in white chalk. On this artwork, he lay a map of America.

He set the candles in the positions necessary, asked Dean to light them while he pulled a wooden bowl out of a cupboard. He began reading the Latin incantation, adding what ingredients the spell stated at the proper time. He poured the ingredients onto the map, finishing the incantation with “Nullam Crowley. Sic fiat,” sprinkling blackthorn. At a nod, Sam sparked the match, dropping it onto the mixture, which erupted in bright flames. The map burned, until only a section remained. Where Crowley was.

 

***

 

**Lincoln, Nebraska.**

Dean opened the trunk of the Impala, grabbing the holy water and shotgun that Bobby had given him. He passed Sam’s to him. His green eyes trailed over the surface of the warehouse they were parked outside.

It was dusk. The sun was just setting, lending the earth a red light. There was no wind, and the air had the fresh scent of grass. The few clouds in the sky looked dark, ominous.

Dean pushed down the anxiety in his chest that urged him to hop in the Impala and _leave._ He looked to Bobby, getting out of his pickup truck, shotgun in hand, holy water flask at his belt. He walked past the Impala, Sam in tow. Bobby paused in front of the door and looked back at Dean.

Dean had frozen, he didn’t move. His feet refused to take that first step. Bobby was on the verge on snapping at him, tell him to “Man up and get the fuck over here, boy,” so Sam raised his hands, placating him, mouthed _one minute,_ and jogged over to Dean on long legs.

“Dean,” he asked, eyebrows raised, head ducked down to try and catch Dean’s eye.

Dean looked at him, mouth working. And then Dean started hyperventilating.

“Okay okay okay!” Sam hurried to soothe him, shushing him, hugging his big brother. “Dean, it’s okay. We can do this. Dean? Listen to me, we can do this.” He caught the flask Bobby tossed him, opening it to give Dean a mouthful of whiskey.

“Shh, Dean, it’s for Cas. This is for Castiel,” he whispered to him. Dean swallowed down the whiskey like it was the only thing keeping him alive. He pressed his lips into a line, eyes squeezed shut, when Sam released him. He exhaled shakily, nodding, “I’m fine, Sam. Let’s do this.”

They caught up to Bobby, who nodded once to Dean.

“No exorcisms,” Bobby whispered grimly. “We don’t have the time or the damn convenience. Stab first, questions later, and we find your dang angel.”

Dean winced, looking down at his feet to hide the action. And he halted. Right there, under the tip of his boot, was a white feather.

Cas had flown from this exact spot. He bent over, picking it up and slipping it into his pocket when Sam was too busy watching Bobby picking the lock to notice.

Then all of a sudden the door was open and Bobby was whispering _go go go_ and motioning the boys forward with his hand and Dean’s body responded automatically and before he knew it he was inside and that _was not_ where he wanted to be he didn’t want to be there but _Oh Lord there’s no going back now_.

He turned a corner and his eyes rested on a man’s back, not more than fifteen paces away. Dean snuck over on the balls of his feet, silently, snaking his hand around the guy’s neck to cover his mouth as his knife tore into the base of his spine. Dean didn’t even do anything, not really, his body had taken control while it felt like he’d left his mind out by the Impala. It was only after he pulled the man’s corpse around the corner and near the entrance that he realised, yes, he killed that man, and yes, this was really happening.

Sam shot him a concerned look that Dean couldn’t show he saw. If he did, he would start panicking again. He started down the same hallway where the man had been.

He motioned for Sam to follow Bobby, and he carried himself down the corridor. Sam sighed but did follow Bobby down the adjoining passage.

Dean killed two more demons until he found himself at what he hoped was the doorway into the main part of the warehouse. He had only sustained a few punches and a busted lip. It was here that he had found another feather. Cas had been here.

It was as he backed up, and looked at the walls properly, that he understood why Cas didn’t just fly straight into where Crowley was.

There were Enochian sigils all over the wall in front of him, and the door, probably blocking Castiel from simply flying in. Dean swallowed anxiously. He prayed to God that Sam and Bobby found the other door and were about to go in too, because he couldn’t face Crowley alone. He pulled out his flask, twisting off the cap in preparation.

The door opened easily.

It opened to Crowley’s well-dressed back, kicking away a trenchcoat. A trenchcoat that was absolutely soaked in blood, and not wrapped around an angel. Dean cried out, surging forward, plunging his knife into where Crowley’s heart should be, accidentally spilling all of his holy water everywhere in the process.

“ _SON OF A BITCH!”_ the demon yelled.

Crowley swung his arm reflexively, and though no contact was made, Dean was flung backwards. It felt like he’d been hit in the face with a truck. He vaulted through the air and the only thing to stop his trajectory was a brick wall.

“Fuck,” Dean whimpered quietly, wincing his way to his feet. _Where the hell were Sam and Bobby?_

“ _YOU FUCKING MORON,”_ Crowley bellowed. “ _THIS WAS A NEW SUIT.”_ He yanked the knife from his back (rather awkwardly) and shot an absolutely furious look in Dean’s direction.

“ _First,”_ he barked, heatedly hurling the knife away, “your stupid _angel_ kills two of my men, and gets blood _all over my fucking shoes,_ and now you so _thoughtfully_ put a fucking _bloody hole – **IN**_ **_MY NEW SUIT._** ” He emphasised the end of the sentence with a backhand that threw Dean sideways.

“Cas . . .” Dean grimaced, panting.

“That intruding angel is spending some quality time with a handful of my best men,” Crowley hissed. “If they’ve done their job like I told them, he’s already dead.”

Dean blanched, and lost control. He flew into a rage, kicking and punching and yelling, tears spilling from his eyes as Crowley only seemed to get annoyed deflecting his attempts. That is, until Dean threw a proper punch and knocked Crowley from his feet.

“YOU WILL WORK FOR ME, WINCHESTER,” Crowley spat, “I WILL MAKE YOU MY BITCH.”

With that, he was gone, nothing left in the room with Dean besides the bloody trenchcoat, which he limped over to. He cradled it.

Sam and Bobby burst into the room from the opposite side, bruised and limping slightly. “Dean, they’re all gone. Everyone, there’s nobody here,” Sam said, sounding both relieved and on the edge of tears. His breathing picked up. “But we saw Cas, just before they all . . . disappeared.”

Dean looked to him, numb.

Bobby looked away from Dean.

Sam held his gaze for a few seconds, a tear tumbling from his lashes. He just shook his head.

Dean couldn’t feel anything. So he simply nodded.

“Let’s get out of here.”

 

***

 

**The Next Day.**

Dean pushed the front door open, limping inside. He ushered Sam in, locking the door after him. Neither said a word. Sam just looked at him woefully before trudging up the stairs.

Dean stood with his back to the locked entrance, letting his eyes observe anything they could see, feeling strangely wistful as he noticed the salt and Devil’s trap. He hadn’t yet let his shock turn to sadness. Still numb.

He let his legs carry him around, making sure all windows and doors were locked, closing curtains. He made his way to his bedroom.

Dean flipped on the light switch.

 _I need to sleep for a week,_ he thought. He looked around the room.

His green eyes froze.

_That wasn’t there when I left._

His legs gave out from under him.

_It was not there yesterday._

His breath caught in his throat.

_But he thought . . ._

Tears fell.

There, on his bed, was a single, white feather.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so that's the end of my first fic! PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU GUYS LIKED IT!  
> I enjoyed writing it and I really hope it actually made sense.  
> I kept getting sidetracked with personal issues and any time I was in the mood to write, it ended up being directed toward my Wincest fic which is still in the works.  
> The kudos and occasional comments were the things that kept this fic going, because there were a few times I contemplated just giving it up. I'm glad I didn't.  
> If any of you have any constructive criticism, questions, or anything, I'm more than happy to read and reply.  
> I hope this is the start of a whole plethora of fics that I write.  
> (Keep an eye out for my Wincest one in the next few months, it's going to be called 30 Days of Sleep, and it'll be heartbreaking!)


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